


Conflagration

by fuzipenguin



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multi, Other, Pheromones, Spark Sexual Interfacing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-03
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-10 06:08:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/782692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Twins experience their first heat cycle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Control (or lack thereof)

**Author's Note:**

> Sideswipe/Sunstreaker, Sideswipe/Ratchet, and barely there Ratchet/Sunstreaker this chapter

                It started while they were off duty, thank Primus.

                They had been play-fighting: shoving and pushing, grappling as they rolled across the floor for a reason already forgotten. In the privacy of their own room, they frequently took any excuse to touch one another even if it was disguised as an argument. And like so often in the past, the mock match turned into a bout of interfacing in the span of mere seconds.

                It was never unusual for Sideswipe to turn a blow into a caress, arching up against his brother with a gleam in his optics and a shot of lust across their bond. And sometimes (although not as frequently as Sideswipe) Sunstreaker initiated things, grinding against Sideswipe’s hip or fondling Sideswipe’s aft.  This time, they couldn’t even remember who started it, only that they were fitting together in a familiar dance of brightly colored limbs.

                So how the interfacing began was typical. And for the most part, the interfacing itself was normal as well. Towards the end, Sunstreaker rolled them and put Sideswipe on top. But Sunstreaker did that on occasion, because Sideswipe always made a _very_ pretty show out of things. So nothing out of the ordinary, not really.

                Sideswipe got his first inkling that something was off after their overloads. They lay sprawled together, their fans working and intakes panting.  Sideswipe knew he’d have to move soon before Sunstreaker began bitching about his paint. He had just started to shift when Sunstreaker shuddered, and a tingle of unease traveled down the bond. As Sideswipe raised his head in concern, a large wash of _want_ followed directly after. Sideswipe reeled from the sudden overwhelming sensation and almost missed the roll of Sunstreaker’s hips beneath Sideswipe’s.

                “Spike me,” Sunstreaker said.

                Sideswipe startled and restarted his audios, his lipplates parted in surprise as he stared at Sunstreaker.

                “What? Spike _you_?” Sideswipe asked. He raised himself off Sunstreaker’s length, his own stirring eagerly at the idea.

                “Yes. Come on. Give it to me,” Sunstreaker commanded, his optics overly bright as his hands reached for Sideswipe’s hips.

                “Sunny… there’s something…” Sideswipe protested, even as his body moved to obey Sunstreaker’s suggestion. The tip of his pressurized spike brushed up against Sunstreaker’s entrance, slipping in the wetness there. Sideswipe muzzily shook his head, hesitating. Sunstreaker preferred to be on top, preferred to spike. Although he let Sideswipe spike him on occasion, it didn’t happen often. And he was never this… desperate… for it.

                “I need a spike. Sides, come on,” Sunstreaker pleaded, writhing. His knees rose, spreading his thighs wider. The sharp tang of lubricant reached Sideswipe’s olfactory sensors, and Sideswipe’s reason left him like a light switch flipping off. Hips thrusting forward, he buried himself in his brother’s scorching heat, Sunstreaker’s needy cry rising to surround them.

                “Harder. _Harder_ ,” Sunstreaker whispered harshly into Sideswipe’s audio. Sideswipe eagerly complied, all finesse lost in the drive of need and lust. Sideswipe didn’t even know which one of them was broadcasting it anymore; he only knew the overwhelming compulsion for completion.

                Sunstreaker reached overload quickly, his helm thunking against the floor as he threw his head back in a loud moan. Sideswipe followed almost immediately after, their bond blown open so wide he could barely tell whose body was whose.

                Sideswipe’s intakes worked to draw in air to cool his engine down after the back to back overloads. His processor still felt fuzzy and an odd tension was simmering in his lower abdomen even as the tingles of overload continued to tick through his circuits.

                “What was that about?” Sideswipe murmured, absently nuzzling the side of Sunstreaker’s neck.

                Sunstreaker shifted, his knees loosening their clamped hold on Sideswipe’s waist. The yellow frame was putting off such a tremendous amount of heat that Sideswipe began to leverage himself up to give his brother some room.

                Hands tightened across Sideswipe’s shoulders, preventing him from moving any farther.

                “No. Again,” Sunstreaker said, his pelvis making little circles and shifting Sideswipe’s spike inside Sunstreaker’s valve. The movement created little fissions of pleasure that shot up Sideswipe’s back struts, and he hissed as he reflexively ground his panel into Sunstreaker’s.

                “Again?” Sideswipe asked incredulously. He raised his head to seek out Sunstreaker’s optics; they were bright and unseeing, nearly white in color.

                “Again,” Sunstreaker confirmed, need already slithering through the bond, washing over Sideswipe’s brief moment of clarity. Sunstreaker’s hips lifted in silent entreaty, and Sideswipe couldn’t help but respond.

                They ‘faced two more times before Sideswipe managed to push himself away as soon as he overloaded, falling on his side next to Sunstreaker. His brother moaned feebly, rolling over and hands blindly seeking out Sideswipe.

                “Again,” Sunstreaker whispered, vocalizer hissing static from overuse.

                “Primus, Sunny,” Sideswipe gasped, scooting across the floor. He needed space, needed distance from the tantalizing scent arising from every inch of his brother’s frame. “There’s something wrong.”

                “You can’t tell me you don’t want it,” Sunstreaker said coyly, his optics roving over Sideswipe’s body and landing on Sideswipe’s quivering spike.

                “’Course I do. I always want you,” Sideswipe replied truthfully. “But something’s not right; you’re not like this.”

                “Please, Sides. I need it,” Sunstreaker begged, pulling himself along the floor to get closer to Sideswipe. Sideswipe’s optics widened as he heard the painful scrape of Sunstreaker’s armor against the floor – an action which would normally elicit tantrums of awe inspiring length and volume. Sunstreaker ignored the ruining of his finish and threw his top leg over Sideswipe’s, pushing his panel forward to seek out Sideswipe’s spike.

                “No, Sunny. Stop it,” Sideswipe protested weakly, the familiar fog beginning to creep into Sideswipe’s processor as his brother’s alluring scent tickled Sideswipe’s olfactory sensors.

                “Sideswipe,” Sunstreaker whispered before capturing Sideswipe’s lips. Sideswipe returned the kiss helplessly, his hips already lining up his spike. Next time, he thought. Next time, he was going to get up and call for Ratchet, and they would get his brother fixed.

\--

                ‘Next time’ turned into another hour before Sideswipe could will himself into standing and stumble far away enough from his brother to clear his processor. Unfortunately, Sunstreaker just got up and followed him, staggering even worse than Sideswipe.

                Their room didn’t exactly have a lot of places to hide. And Sunstreaker was relentless, falling against Sideswipe as soon as he was close enough. Sideswipe ended up taking Sunstreaker against the wall by their private washrack, the cables in his thighs trembling as he roughly thrust into Sunstreaker’s valve, his brother’s legs wrapped trustingly around Sideswipe’s waist.

                As soon as they overloaded, Sideswipe leaned over and yanked open the door to the shower. Sideswipe shuffled them towards the small room, Sunstreaker’s back sliding along the wall until he met open air. Sunstreaker fell to the washrack floor with a clatter and a surprised yell. Sideswipe threw a ‘sorry, bro’ through the doorway before hurriedly slamming the door shut. He collapsed against it, shoring it closed with his own weight and turned off his audios to Sunstreaker’s shouts.

                His intakes panting, Sideswipe opened up a communications line.

                **Ratchet. We need you.**

\--

                The Autobot medic grumbled to himself as he made his way down the hallway to the twins’ room. It had actually been a nice, quiet morning, and Ratchet had been halfway through completing the inventory when Sideswipe’s call had come. Ratchet hadn’t been able to get any more information out of Sideswipe other than Sunstreaker was ‘not himself’ and to ‘get down here ASAP’.

                Ratchet was annoyed at leaving the inventory job half done, but a small part of Ratchet’s processor was truly worried. The twins routinely managed to drag themselves into the medical bay after sustaining injuries that would lay out other mechs. They usually came to him. Ratchet only came to them when it was physically impossible for them to move, and that type of situation was generally accompanied by panicky pleas or harried demands of Ratchet’s skills. Sideswipe had sounded worried, but not frantic, which was the only reason Ratchet wasn’t hurrying.

                He arrived at their door and banged on the surface loudly.

“Well, I’m here, so open up!” he called, crossing his arms over his chassis and looking up and down the deserted hall. The Twins’ nearest neighbor was several rooms down. Many a mech had requested a room reassignment after living next to Sideswipe and Sunstreaker; loud music and louder arguments did not a good neighbor make.

                Ratchet waited, his foot tapping against the floor impatiently. Just before he opened his mouth to call again, his audio receptors heard the door locks disengage. He paused to see if anyone would open the door, and when it remained shut, he pushed the door aside and poked his head in to the room.

                “Sideswipe? Sunstreaker?” Ratchet called, warily placing a foot inside. He wouldn’t put it past Sideswipe to be playing a prank on him.

                “In here,” Sideswipe’s voice called. Ratchet took another step, his optics rapidly taking in the mess around him. Weapons and games were strewn everywhere, the berth coverings were bunched upon the floor, and the couch was shoved haphazardly against the washrack door.

                As Ratchet moved forward, he saw one outstretched red leg emerging from behind the farthest corner of the couch. “Sideswipe? What’s going on? If this is a prank, so help me, I’ll…”

                Sideswipe’s head poked out around the edge of the couch. “Not a prank, I swear to Primus,” the red mech said. “It’s Sunny, he’s…”

                He was interrupted by loud shouts from behind the washrack door. The words were muffled, but the voice was easily identifiable as Sunstreaker’s. The door vibrated on its hinges as something banged up against its inner surface and then silence descended.

                “Why is your brother locked in there?” Ratchet asked. His processor whirled with possibilities. Knowing the twins, it could be for any reason.

                “He won’t stop. It’s like he can’t stop,” Sideswipe said, his hands waving about agitatedly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like a good frag, but I’m getting _tired,_ and I think I’m gonna end up hurting him.”

                Ratchet moved forward again, taking note of Sideswipe’s appearance. The frontliner was dented and scratched, his crimson paint job marred by strips of yellow paint and streaks of drying transfluid and valve lubricant. The odor of interfacing hung in the air, now that Ratchet knew to scent for it.

                The medic crossed his arms over his chassis again and glared down at Sideswipe. “I’m not going to protect you from Sunstreaker if he’s fragged about his paint. If the two of you can’t control…”

                Ratchet trailed off as his olfactory sensors picked up another scent mixed in with that of transfluid and lubricant. It was heady, something musky and tantalizing, and Ratchet found himself leaning forward and sniffing in appreciation before his processor flung up a warning code.

                “Primus!” Ratchet exclaimed. “He’s throwing out heat pheromones.”

                “Phera… what?” Sideswipe asked, optics blinking in confusion.

                “Pheromones – chemical attractants. Your brother’s in heat. Let me guess… he’s been needy… insatiable?”

                Sideswipe slumped backwards in relief. “Yes! Since early this morning. He won’t _stop_ ,” Sideswipe whined.

                “And you can’t stop either, can you? Especially once he gets close?”

                A guilty expression slid over Sideswipe’s faceplates. “It’s like something in my processor just shuts down.”

                Ratchet nodded. “That’s the pheromones. His reproductive system is producing them to attract partners. Once detected, they initiate mating protocols in the mech who senses them.”

                “Well, can you make them stop? I can barely stand up straight, and he’s no better.”

                “It’s not going to be that easy. I can put him into stasis for a little while, but the heat ultimately needs to run its course or it will burn out his systems.”

                “Well, how long will it take to finish?” Sideswipe asked, a look of dismay blooming across his faceplates.

                Ratchet shrugged. “A few days usually. I take it this is your first heat?”

                “I think I’d remember this happening before, Ratchet,” Sideswipe replied, body jolting as the door behind him vibrated in a barrage of blows from Sunstreaker. Apparently the yellow mech had decided he had been ignored for long enough.

                “Then you lied about your age when you two joined up with the Autobots,” Ratchet said decisively.

                “No, we didn’t!” Sideswipe protested.

                Ratchet waved a hand through the air. “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting Sunstreaker and you into isolation before the entire Ark smells him.” He gestured for Sideswipe to get up, and the red mech wearily heaved himself to his feet.

                “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sideswipe said when Ratchet indicated for him to move aside. “How are you going to …you know… not end up fragging him?”

                Ratchet gave Sideswipe a withering look. “I’m your CMO – you think I haven’t had to deal with this before?”

                Sideswipe didn’t look all that convinced. “All right. What do you want me to do?”

                “Just stand back so that you’re not affected. Shut off your olfactory sensors and clamp down on your side of the bond.”

                Sideswipe nodded and pushed the couch out of the way, moving to stand at the other end of it. The banging on the other side of the door ceased, and it opened cautiously. Ratchet braced himself as Sunstreaker slowly emerged.

                Sunstreaker caught sight of his brother first and immediately turned in Sideswipe’s direction. “I’ll forgive you… if you get over here and spike me,” Sunstreaker purred, his hands lightly trailing down over his interface equipment.

                Ratchet ignored Sideswipe’s whimper and moved forward, planting himself directly in Sunstreaker’s path.

                “Why don’t you let Sides have a rest?” Ratchet asked.

                Sunstreaker’s dazed optics focused on Ratchet and then lit up with interest. Ratchet did his best to squash down a surge of nervousness as Sunstreaker stalked forward. Even though Ratchet couldn’t detect the pheromones through his olfactory sensors, there were still other, unavoidable signs of Sunstreaker’s readiness. The most noticeable were the incredible warmth of his frame apparent from several feet away and of course the evidence of his arousal slicking his thighs.

               Ratchet resolutely kept his optics on Sunstreaker’s face and clamped down on the mating protocols that were clamoring for his attention. Now was not the time to give in to his long held attraction for the twins.

               “Well, if you’re volunteering to spell him for a bit…” Sunstreaker said, his low sultry voice sending shivers up Ratchet’s back struts.

               “I am,” Ratchet replied, and let Sunstreaker come to him. Up close it was even more difficult to ignore Sunstreaker’s willingness, but Ratchet managed to hold on to reason even as Sunstreaker pressed himself against Ratchet .

               Sunstreaker shuddered at the first touch of plating against plating and lost all semblance of seduction. “Please,” he whispered desperately into the crook of Ratchet’s neck. “Please, Ratchet.”

               While Sunstreaker was distracted with fumbling at Ratchet’s interface array, Ratchet plugged into the port at the back of Sunstreaker’s neck. Sunstreaker stiffened at the sudden intrusion into his processor and then slumped against Ratchet as he quickly placed a medical override on the heat protocols.

               “Primus,” Sunstreaker muttered, still draped over Ratchet. “Is it over?”

               “Not yet,” Ratchet said, feeling sorry for the normally proud mech who had been reduced to begging and pleading.

               “I’m going to put you into stasis and then move you into isolation. We have to let the heat run its course. It’s your first so it will be brutal in intensity, but hopefully short.”

               “You can’t just get rid of it?” Sunstreaker asked piteously, swaying in Ratchet’s hold.

               “I’m sorry, Sunny, no. I’m putting you into stasis now,” Ratchet informed him, surprised by how easily Sunstreaker’s firewalls fell away. The twins normally fought him every inch of the way into medical stasis. Ratchet supposed that Sunstreaker was eager for a reprieve.

               Ratchet grunted as the large frontliner’s full weight fell against him. He readjusted his hold and hefted Sunstreaker into his arms, doing his best to ignore the tantalizing warmth pressed against him. He turned and nearly fell over as he sidestepped to avoid Sideswipe.

               “I’ve got him, Sides,” Ratchet reassured Sunstreaker’s twin. He paused and cocked his head to the side as Sideswipe swayed in place, nearly falling over. “Sides?”

               “I think… I think you turned mine on…” Sideswipe said, his words slurring as he raised optics that were rapidly losing their normal sky blue color, “…when you turned his off.”

               “Oh slag,” Ratchet swore as he watched Sideswipe shudder, his hands clenching into fists.  

               Sideswipe took a step forward, crowding Ratchet back against the twins’ bunks. “Is that supposed to happen? When he’s off, I’m on?” Sideswipe whispered, wrapping his arms around his chassis and clutching at his sides.

               “I’m not sure; I’ve never had to deal with twins in a heat. Fight it, Sides. Give me a moment,” Ratchet said, feeling his processor slow and stumble. It had been bad enough fighting off the lingering effects from Sunstreaker. Now Sideswipe’s protocols were kicking in full force, and Ratchet knew he had to move quickly or he would succumb to his own mating codes.

                Ratchet hurriedly turned and placed Sunstreaker on the lower berth. When he turned back, Sideswipe was only inches away, still clutching at his own transformation seams.

                “Sideswipe. Back off,” Ratchet commanded weakly. His own hands twitched at his sides, wanting to reach out and caress that sleek, warm armor he had often fantasized about late at night in his own bunk.

                “Can’t,” Sideswipe ground out, shaking his head wildly. “Oh, Primus. This _hurts_ , Ratch.” Ratchet’s gaze was unerringly drawn to Sideswipe’s pelvic girdle as Sideswipe shifted, his thighs rubbing together with a slick sound.

                “Make it stop,” Sideswipe begged, finally losing control. He surged forward, pressing against Ratchet’s frame, hands everywhere. “Fix it, make it better. You’re supposed to make it better,” Sideswipe murmured desperately, peppering kisses against the side of Ratchet’s neck.

                “I know, I will,” Ratchet whispered back, desperately fighting against his own body as it responded to the pheromones he could now taste on his glossa. He was trapped between Sunstreaker at his back and Sideswipe plastered to his front, and Ratchet was rapidly losing coherency.

                “Please, Ratchet. Please, I need it so bad,” Sideswipe pleaded, undulating against Ratchet’s body. When Ratchet moved to scoot sideways out of Sideswipe’s grip, Sideswipe shifted as well, rubbing his interface equipment against Ratchet’s thigh with a pained moan. Ratchet’s plating ignited in sensation as Sideswipe’s valve lubricant trickled against over Ratchet’s armor.

                “ _Primus_ ,” Ratchet whispered, his hands reaching out and clamping down hard on Sideswipe’s wrists. “Primus, Sideswipe. I’m not going to be able to stop,” Ratchet said in desperation, trying one last time to move away. Sideswipe stuck to him however, grinding steadily against Ratchet’s thigh.

                “Don’t want you to,” Sideswipe said, easily breaking Ratchet’s grip and pressing closer. “Always wanted you. Sunny too. We just never knew how to say it. “

                Ratchet groaned at the admission, all his reservations falling away. The overrides on his mating protocols fell like dominos, and he buried his face in the underside of Sideswipe’s throat, inhaling deeply. The pheromones coming off Sideswipe’s plating ignited a flame along Ratchet’s sensory net. His interface cover slid aside with a ‘snickt’, his spike pressurizing so rapidly it hurt.

                “Yesss,” Sideswipe hissed, his hand seeking out and wrapping around Ratchet’s spike with unerring accuracy. He stroked it twice, Ratchet bucking into the grip, before Sideswipe shuffled closer and tried to hook his leg over Ratchet’s hip.

                Ratchet pushed him away and pointed towards the couch. “There. I want you there.”

                Now assured that he would get what he needed, Sideswipe eagerly flung himself onto the couch’s surface, his legs spreading wantonly. His fingers dipped into his open valve as Ratchet watched with avid optics.

                “Any way you want me,” Sideswipe promised, panting already.

                “ _Every_ way I want you,” Ratchet growled. He fell atop the frontliner, his hips fitting snugly between Sideswipe’s thighs. Ratchet thrust into Sideswipe without any preamble, and they both groaned as Ratchet’s spike slid home.

                Ratchet didn’t give Sideswipe any time to adjust. He set up a driving pace that Sideswipe arched into, valve slick and welcoming. The frontliner babbled encouragements, his moans and writhing spurning Ratchet on.

                Sideswipe’s overload didn’t take long, not with the intensity of the heat washing over him for the first time. Ratchet followed shortly after, Sideswipe’s valve calipers milking the transfluid out of Ratchet’s spike in thick spurts.

                Purring happily, Sideswipe wound arms around Ratchet’s shoulders and pressed close, his chassis rubbing sweet friction against Ratchet’s. The scrape of armor against armor prompted some clarity into Ratchet’s processor, and he swiftly plugged into Sideswipe’s medical port before the pheromones could start rising again.

                Ratchet expected Sideswipe to fall limp as Sunstreaker had, but the red mech only stilled for a second before tightening his grip around the medic.

                “Thank you,” Sideswipe murmured, nuzzling Ratchet’s throat. Ratchet felt the touch of a glossa on his neck cables, and he jerked backwards, checking his override blocks on Sideswipe’s heat protocols one more time. They were in place and a quirk perusal of Sideswipe’s optics showed them to be blue once more.

                “For what? Taking advantage of you?” Ratchet said bitterly, shifting to disengage his spike. Guilt was already starting to seep through his lines and regret made his spark heavy. Sideswipe quickly wrapped his legs around Ratchet’s waist and hung on, a steely glint in the frontliner’s optics.

                “Don’t do that,” Sideswipe said. “I know what it’s like; you can’t stop.”

                “I shouldn’t have even started. I know how to override it, and I lost control.”

                 Sideswipe grinned unexpectedly. “Yeah. We have that effect.”

                “Sides…” Ratchet said in a warning tone.

                Ratchet wasn’t prepared for Sideswipe to grab the back of Ratchet’s neck and pull, meeting his lips with Sideswipe’s own. Ratchet’s hips moved reflexively, and Sideswipe moaned into the kiss, glossa tangling with Ratchet’s. The kiss was brief, but scorching, and when Sideswipe pulled back, his optics were half closed in a satisfied expression.

                “I wasn’t joking earlier, about what I said. We’ve always wanted… _something_ … with you. We just didn’t want to… we wanted…” Sideswipe stopped, shrugging helplessly. “We really like you,” he finished with a twisted grin.

                Ratchet looked down into Sideswipe’s earnest faceplates and shook his head. “That’s the pheromones talking, Sides.”

                The smile slowly slid off Sideswipe’s faceplates, and he nodded solemnly. “It’s not. But we can talk about it later, I suppose. Isolation?” he prompted.

                Ratchet hesitated, the sad, resigned look Sideswipe was sporting making Ratchet wonder. Then he mentally shook himself. “Yes, isolation. Are there any mechs you would like to invite to participate?”

                Sideswipe’s optics slid closed, and he turned his head to the side as his arms slipped from Ratchet’s shoulders. “None that would say yes. Let’s just get it over with.”

                Ratchet paused with the command for stasis at the ready, gazing at Sideswipe’s blank faceplates. Then he enforced the code, and Sideswipe’s frame went slack. Ratchet caught the frontliner’s lower limbs as they slid from Ratchet’s waist and gently lowered them to the berth. He reluctantly withdrew from Sideswipe’ s valve and stood gazing down at himself.

                He sighed at the strips of red on his hips and rubbed a weary hand across his faceplates. Washrack first. Then he would have to alert the rest of command and get some assistance carrying the twins through the Ark.

                Ratchet sincerely hoped that Sunstreaker and Sideswipe’s heat cycle would pass quickly. After having tasted Sideswipe once, he didn’t know if he would be able to resist either of them again. Berating himself quite thoroughly, he headed for the washracks.

 

~ End  

 

               

               

               


	2. Helping Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sending the twins to isolation to let them work out their heat on their own doesn't work out as well as planned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took so long to finish (Chapter 1 was actually posted on my livejournal back in 7/12) because I kept getting hung up on Ratchet's explanations regarding heat cycles and Transformer reproduction. Everything is my own cracked logic - I don't believe I've seen heat cycles explained this way before, but if I've stolen a concept from someone else... hearty apologies and let me know.

                Sunstreaker onlined with Ratchet’s name on his lipplates.

                Disorientation kept him still as he rapidly booted up sensors to give him information: He was lying on something hard and flat. The echoes of his own voice bounced back off walls in an unfamiliar way; low voices spoke, muffled by distance and structures. A quick pulse along the twin bond reassured Sunstreaker that Sideswipe was close by, likely in the same room, but he was not awake.

                Sunstreaker finally started up his optics and stared at the orange ceiling overhead. So he was still in the Ark then. He turned his head, examining similar colored walls and pieces of medical equipment tucked into the corner. Sideswipe was motionless on a berth a few feet away, and suddenly, Sunstreaker’s processor supplied him with memories of the last few hours. His optics closed again, mortification making his frame go hot.

                Asking, no, _begging_ , Sideswipe to spike him over and over had been one thing. But to drape himself over Ratchet and plead for release?

Sunstreaker wanted to crawl under the berth he was lying on and never emerge again, much less meet Ratchet’s optics.

                Sunstreaker shoved his bout of self-chastisement to the side as he felt Sideswipe abruptly online.  He turned his head to better observe Sideswipe; his brother’s plating shone in the bright lights of the isolation room. Sunstreaker snorted at the thought of someone cleaning them up; nice gesture, but pointless if what Ratchet had said was true.

                Confusion flooded the bond as Sideswipe went through the same process Sunstreaker had. Then the confusion faded into a sort of weary resignation that had Sunstreaker pushing himself up on his elbow and staring with concern at his twin.

                “Sideswipe?” he asked tentatively, pushing a hesitant pulse along their link. Sideswipe replied instantly, and some of Sunstreaker’s anxiety melted away as he was enveloped in Sideswipe’s familiar love and affection. So the mauling he had given Sideswipe earlier wasn’t what was setting him off into this melancholy; that was a relief at least.

                “What is it?”

                Sideswipe sucked in a large amount of air before forcefully blowing it out of his vents. Then he pushed himself upright and stepped onto the isolation room floor. As if going to the slag pits, Sideswipe plodded across the room and made to lie down on Sunstreaker’s berth. Sunstreaker was forced to quickly scoot over, but the unease over Sideswipe’s mopiness overrode the annoyance about his paint.

                “Sides, come on, what’s wrong?”

                His brother snuggled down against Sunstreaker’s side, and he automatically drew Sideswipe close. A ping came for a data transfer, and Sunstreaker gave access, optics dimming as he viewed Sideswipe’s most recent memories.

                “Oh,” he softly replied, playing Ratchet’s conversation with Sideswipe over and over. 

                _Well, that complicates things,_ he said, switching to bond speak. They were likely under some type of observation, either by First Aid, one of the science ‘bots, or Ratchet himself. This was a topic of conversation best kept private.

                _Sorry,_ Sideswipe replied morosely. Sideswipe’s guilt flooded the bond, but Sunstreaker couldn’t really be angry.

                He shrugged. _Hey_ , _I get it; it was like getting something in my valve was more important than anything else in the galaxy. I_ am _a little jealous that you got to taste Ratchet first, though,_ Sunstreaker joked in mock anger, trying to lighten Sideswipe’s mood.

Sideswipe wasn’t having any of it. _You know how he is; he’s gonna think he took advantage of me. Now it’s gonna be ten times harder to convince him of how we feel._

Nuzzling the side of Sideswipe’s cheekplate, Sunstreaker sighed. _It was never going to be easy._

They both stiffened as the intercom crackled to life, Ratchet’s voice loud in the small room. “Welcome back. How are you two feeling?”

                Sideswipe answered for both of them. “Tired. Little sore. How long were we out?”

                “Only a few hours. Long enough to replenish your energy reserves and clean you up.”

                “Hmm,” Sideswipe said, stretching against Sunstreaker’s side. It said something that the normally arousing sensation of his twin’s plating sliding against his own did nothing for him. “Who’d you get to carry us down here?”

                There was a long pause, and then Ratchet made an annoyed, rumbling sound. “Well, I started with Optimus. I thought the Matrix might offer him some extra protection from any lingering pheromones. It, uh… did the opposite, rather.”

                Sideswipe stilled and exchanged amused glances with Sunstreaker. “What happened?”

                “I had to sedate him. We haven’t had any mechs go into heat for so long that apparently the Matrix took your heat cycle as a sign to renew the repopulation of our race,” Ratchet said crossly.

                Sniggering, Sideswipe hid his faceplates in Sunstreaker’s chest. “Always wondered what it would be like to berth Prime,” he murmured, and Sunstreaker reflexively smacked the back of Sideswipe’s helm.

                “So, then who…”

                “Wheeljack. That blast mask of his is pretty helpful in blocking superficial sensory information. Has to be to prevent inhaling the… aftereffects… of failed inventions,” Ratchet said, in a long suffering tone.

                “Ah,” Sunstreaker said. “So now what?”

                Ratchet cleared his intakes, and there was a small rustling sound over the intercom. “Now… I turn you two back on and let the heat cycle run its course.”

                Sideswipe snickered again. “You always turn us on, baby. Sure you don’t want to join us?” He looked up into the far corner of the room by the ceiling, and Sunstreaker finally noticed the tiny camera sensor placed there.

                Sideswipe’s tone was flippant, but Sunstreaker could feel the tension thrumming through his brother’s frame at the question. Sunstreaker was also very interested in Ratchet’s response.

                “Sorry. Can’t. I have an access remote to the override codes; just in case I think you need a break.” Ratchet’s tone was eerily even. Sunstreaker didn’t know what to make of it. They were used to angry, raging Ratchet. Calm and cool Ratchet was an altogether new territory; had they infuriated him past a breaking point and this was the result?

                “A break from interfacing? Who needs that?” Sideswipe boasted, sliding a leg between Sunstreaker’s, and rocking against his array. It was all a show; Sunstreaker could feel Sideswipe’s disappointment in Ratchet’s answer and the dread about reentering his heat cycle. As much of a hedonist as Sideswipe was, he obviously hadn’t been a fan of losing complete control of his body.

                “I seem to recall it was _your_ panicky voice on my comm. line a few hours ago, begging me to save you from Sunstreaker,” Ratchet said dryly.

                “I said no such thing!” Sideswipe denied hotly.

                “Hmm. Close enough. Are you two ready?” Ratchet asked, his tone turning brusque.

                Sunstreaker placed a reassuring hand on Sideswipe’s hip. “Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”

                He met his twin’s optics and knew the unhappiness simmering there was mirrored in his own.

                “Hey,” Sideswipe whispered. “You’re on top. I figure I owe you.”

                “I don’t know if it will matter,” Sunstreaker said. “But, thanks.”

                “No prob…ah!” Sideswipe stiffened in the circle of Sunstreaker’s arms, the red frame heating up almost immediately. Sunstreaker curiously watched as Sideswipe’s head came up, the blue of his optics bleeding out. Sideswipe whimpered, pressing close. A tantalizing scent passed across Sunstreaker’s olfactory sensors, and he felt his own engine rev in response.

                Then something in the back of his processor clicked and hot lava poured into his internals, coating every wire and cable and finally centering under his groin plating. He groaned, grinding up against the firm surface between his thighs, but it wasn’t enough. He needed something inside him, and he needed it _now_.

\--

                “Slag,” Ratchet muttered.

                “What’s wrong?” First Aid asked, coming up alongside his mentor. “Oh my,” he said in astonishment as he glimpsed the small viewing screen Ratchet held in his hand.

                Ratchet had told his apprentice what was going on in the private room, but hadn’t yet allowed Aid’s assistance. It was better to involve as few mechs as possible, and First Aid was currently in charge of monitoring Optimus’ sedation.

                Ratchet looked up from the screen, a wry grin quirking his lipplates. “Just think. You and your brothers still have your first heat cycle to look forward to.”

                First Aid shifted in place, embarrassment clear in every line of his frame. “But that’s far off, right? And is this normal?” he said, pointing at the screen.

                “Normal? Nothing is ever normal with these two,” Ratchet muttered, watching Sunstreaker and Sideswipe writhe on the berth together.  “And I doubt yours will be all that standard either.”

                “I don’t understand,” First Aid admitted.

                Ratchet tiredly pinched the bridge of his nasal plates, a habit he’d picked up from their human companions. “Do you remember your course on heat cycles?”

                “Yes. There isn’t much information regarding cycles in twins, however. Or gestalts for that matter,” First Aid said, wringing his hands together.

                “You’re right, there’s not,” Ratchet agreed. “With a non-gestalt, non-split sparked mech, heat cycles are pretty routine. The first heat cycle in is a sign of coming of age. It’s when the adult frame makes its final preparations to begin producing new sparks of its own.”

                “It’s the shortest cycle, but also the most intense,” First Aid added, visor dimming slightly with information recall. “The first injection of transfluid into the reproductive chamber is the most important. It is actually a catalyst for the frame to begin creating a microscopic channel that leads from the chamber to the spark housing. The heat cycle ceases when the channel is complete. When transfluid enters the chamber in the future, the charge it carries can combine with spark energies that trickle down the channel and create a new spark.”

                “Very good,” Ratchet said, nodding approvingly. “Once the first heat cycle is completely over, a mech is then ready to conceive. Of course, our species’ success rate is rather low, but most mechs still elect to implant barrier codes to keep the channel closed in order to prevent sparking.”

                “There is a higher chance to form a new spark during subsequent heat cycles, although it can occur outside of a cycle as well. How frequent are the intervals between cycles?” First Aid asked, distractedly, still accessing his library of information. “I’m not noticing a set number.”

                “It has always varied and was heavily influenced by the environment a mech was surrounded by. Of course, we medics can temporarily override any heat cycle if need be, but cycles would also automatically shut off or be delayed during times of physical or emotional stress.”

                First Aid’s visor lit up. “That’s why I haven’t seen any other mechs go into one yet! The war isn’t very conducive to reproduction.”

                “That would be why,” Ratchet said, nodding. “The majority of the Autobots have far surpassed the age when they would typically experience their first heat. The odd thing is, while relatively young, Sunstreaker and Sideswipe should have experienced their first heat ages ago.”

                Ratchet turned his attention back to the viewing screen. “I have no idea when they started when they did or why Sunstreaker went first.”

                “Because they’re a split spark?” First Aid suggested.

Ratchet smiled at the apprentice, but the expression was humorless. ‘Because they’re a split spark’ was a typical suggested answer when any of the medical staff encountered something unexpected while treating either Sunstreaker or Sideswipe. The truth was, even with as much knowledge that Ratchet had access to, there was still a lot he didn’t know, and especially about twins.

                “Maybe Sunstreaker was the first split?” First Aid mused.

                Ratchet shrugged. “Sideswipe has always claimed that he was the oldest, but I suppose that neither of them know for certain. They weren’t with their creators long,” Ratchet said, optics drawn back to the screen.

                “Oh. That’s a pity,” First Aid commented sadly.

                “It is. And also part of their locked medical file,” Ratchet said, shooting a glance at his apprentice. First Aid nodded in understanding.

                “So what is wrong exactly?” First Aid asked, looking back at the viewer.

                “Well, during a cycle, a mech’s top priority becomes getting transfluid into his reproductive chamber. In this case, Sunstreaker’s and Sidswipe’s channel transformation protocols are the ones enforcing the urgency, needing the charge that transfluid carries to supply energy to the new channel. When it was just Sunstreaker in heat, Sideswipe’s frame was producing enough energy to charge his own transfluid. Now that _he’s_ gone into heat, his frame is concerned with _conserving_ energy, diverting what had originally been going to his spike to his valve.

                “Also… I guess it’s never really been studied, but it seems a mech in heat won’t be responsive to another cycling mech’s pheromones,” Ratchet said, faceplates creasing with irritation and worry.

                “… so neither of them wants to spike the other,” First Aid surmised. “That’s unfortunate.”

                He leaned even farther over Ratchet’s arm, close enough that the quiet whimpers and moans emerging from the screen’s tiny speakers were audible. First Aid’s engine abruptly made an eager rumble.

                As soon as it did, the apprentice medic jumped backwards about a foot, staring down at his frame in mortification. “I… that… uh…”

                 Ratchet chuckled. “I had thought since you weren’t at majority yet, you wouldn’t be affected. You _are_ technically in an adult frame, though, so I guess I’m not all that surprised. I just sent you a data burst. Those are medic codes; they’ll suppress your mating protocols. Don’t feel badly; some mech’s protocols will turn on with just a visual or audio aid.”

                “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” First Aid babbled.

                “’Aid, ‘Aid, it’s fine,” Ratchet said soothingly. “Just get those codes in place and take a walk around the corridors to cool down.”

                First Aid nodded rapidly and then paused. “What about them?” he said. “I thought you said that the heat will burn out their systems if they aren’t… ah… fulfilled?”

                Ratchet turned his attention back to the display in his hand. “It will,” he murmured.

\--

                Sideswipe was pretty sure he was dying.

                He open-mouth panted into his arm while laying sprawled on his side. His plating was flared as far as it could go; heat came off him in visible waves. Worse of all, his valve ached with a horrible, lingering emptiness. On his back next to Sideswipe, Sunstreaker gasped shaky ventilations, his armor rattling with shudders.

                “Oh, Primus,” Sideswipe moaned, slanting an optic in his twin’s direction. “Is it over?”

                Sunstreaker didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out a hand and tangled his fingers with Sideswipe’s. His optics were tightly shuttered.

                “No, boys, it’s not over,” Ratchet’s voice said over the intercom. Sideswipe hated how frustrated Ratchet sounded. That was never a good tone to hear from your medic.

                “No?” Sideswipe asked, not even caring how piteous his voice sounded. He checked his chronometer and realized that barely an hour had passed. “It hasn’t even been…”

                “I know,” Ratchet sighed. “We’ve run into a problem.”

                Sideswipe groaned and let his own optic shutters close. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

                “Now that both of your cycles have started, neither one of you is able to respond to the other’s pheromones. You’re both too concerned with receiving a spike… not giving.”

                Sideswipe huffed a weak laugh. “Finally able to resist me, huh, bro?” he muttered, feeling Sunstreaker’s fingers squeeze his in response. “What about overriding us one at a time?”

                “Tried that. I haven’t been able to override the cycles on just one of you for more than a few seconds. Then you two just override the overrides. I suspect that the halves of your spark are just too in sync in this,” Ratchet replied. Now he was sounding a little more like normal irritated Ratchet.

                “So what now?” Sideswiped asked. “Cuz we’re getting our afts kicked here, Ratch.”

                There was a long, worrying moment of silence before Ratchet spoke.

                “Now… now you start thinking about revising your list of partners.”

                Sideswipe opened his optics and stared at the ceiling. Sunstreaker’s fingers twitched.

                “Ratchet…” Sideswipe began hesitantly.

                “No.” Ratchet’s tone was firm. “Not me. I have to monitor you both. Some of your spark readings are becoming erratic. It’s probably due to me experimenting with the overrides, but it could be a deeper issue.”

                “First Aid can…”

                “I trust him with many things, but he doesn’t have enough experience with evaluating spark readings. I need to be available in case something goes wrong.”

                Sideswiped huffed again; he squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position. Every new shift just drew more attention to the emptiness of his valve, however, and he finally stilled, ignoring the wearily amused pulse along their link from Sunstreaker.

                “This is basically just an extended frag! Has anyone ever died during a heat cycle?” Sideswipe asked testily. This whole heat thing was seriously putting a dent in his plans for the day. And probably the next few as well if what Ratchet had said earlier was right.

                “Not to my knowledge. But then again, I can’t find any information on twins and heat cycles.”

                “So basically… not you,” Sideswipe sighed, unable to hide the disappointment in his tone.

                There was a long pause before Ratchet spoke. “No… not like this.”

                He _must_ have been tired. He didn’t even register the full implications of Ratchet’s response until Sunstreaker made a surprised noise.

                Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Sideswipe cocked his head to the side and stared into the room’s monitoring camera. “But when it’s over?”

                Sideswipe and Sunstreaker could practically feel Ratchet’s hesitation despite the walls between them. “When your heat is over… we’ll talk.”

                He felt a smile bloom across his faceplates, and there was a lurch of hope from Sunstreaker’s end of their bond. “We’re gonna hold you to that,” Sideswipe warned.

                “Fine, but for now just pick someone. Or someones, rather. It would be easier with two mechs. How about Bluestreak? Or Blaster?”

                Ratchet’s tone took on a sly edge as he continued. “You work and train with Ironhide so frequently. Maybe I should call him.”

                “Ha. Ha. Ha. That’s so funny, Ratchet. And disgusting,” Sideswipe said, glaring at the camera. “No. And also no. Ask Prowl and Jazz.”

                There was a startled exclamation on the other end of the intercom. “Prowl and Jazz?” Ratchet spluttered. “I already have Prime sedated! You want me to put the second and third in command out of commission as well?”

                “They’re the only bonded pair on the ship,” Sideswipe explained. “Maybe this thing will be over quicker if our partners are linked too. And I’d rather be knocked up by a bonded couple than a random mech.”

                “You…! How did you figure it out? Optimus and I are the only other mechs who know about Jazz and Prowl!” Ratchet exclaimed.

                Sideswipe shot the camera an incredulous glance and let Sunstreaker speak for both of them. “Takes one to know one,” he said, borrowing a human phrase.

                “How long have you known?” Ratchet asked finally.

                Sideswipe and Sunstreaker exchanged glances; they had figured it out shortly after meeting and seeing the two officers interact. That had been a long time ago.

                “Years,” Sunstreaker replied, keeping the answer simple.

                Ratchet made an aggravated sound. “Fine. I just commed them. They both are willing, but Prowl said he has to make arrangements for the next few days to cover their absence. I’m going to try and take Optimus out of stasis once the two of you are otherwise occupied. We can’t be completely without leadership.”

                “Oh, Red Alert could handle it!” Sideswipe said breezily, his elbows finally giving out on him. He collapsed back to the berth surface with a clang.

                “Uh huh,” Ratchet said, disbelief heavy in his voice. “It’s unlikely, you know.”

                “Oh, come on, Inferno would keep him in line,” Sideswipe said, waving a weak hand through the air. “And why those two haven’t bonded yet, I’ll never know,” he said in an aside to his brother.

                “No, I mean becoming sparked,” Ratchet said. “No one can during the first heat cycle. And even after this is over, neither one of you would be able to carry a spark to term. The new spark latches onto the carrier’s for support once it’s formed. You’re spark halves wouldn’t be able to sustain it long enough for it to survive.”

                Sideswipe’s optics spiraled down in surprise. “So… we can’t _ever_ get sparked?” he asked, peering at the camera as if he could see the medic directly.

                “Not and carry to term. The first few days are crucial to the new spark’s development. If you did manage to conceive, the new spark would likely abort shortly after creation. You probably wouldn’t even ever know that you had sparked,” Ratchet explained.

                “Huh,” Sideswipe said and let his helm fall back to gently bump against the berth surface.

                He glanced over at Sunstreaker to see his twin’s optics still closed, ventilations finally starting to level out. On the surface, he was completely calm. Internally, however, emotional turmoil raged.

                Sparklings had never really crossed either of their processors. But neither of them liked being told that they couldn’t have something. And what if this stupid war finally ended? What if they wanted to settle down and have a family? With their job description, they probably would never survive the war’s end. But it was still nice to think about.

                “You couldn’t carry a new spark yourself,” Ratchet hurried to add as if sensing their disappointment. “But you may still be able to create one, with another mech carrying. Again, there’s not a lot of literature on the subject and the odds would be against you, but I’m not outright discounting it.”

                “Well, the fun part’s in the trying isn’t it?” Sideswipe remarked with a grin.

                “Yes, I suppose it is,” Ratchet answered. There was a bit of clattering in the background and then came the sound of Jazz’s voice echoing in the MedBay.

                “Jazz is here,” Ratchet told them.

                “We can hear,” Sunstreaker replied dryly. “What happens if the Decepticons attack during this?”

                “’Raj is takin’ over for me and Smokey for Prowler,” Jazz’s voice said, starting out low and then increasing in volume as he got closer to the intercom controls. There was an annoyed, wordless grumble from Ratchet, and Sideswipe could envision Jazz draping himself over the cranky CMO in order to speak into the microphone.

                “And hopefully Optimus will be pheromone free by that point if that were to happen,” Ratchet added.

                Jazz chuckled. “Wished I coulda seen that one,” he said. “So, boys, how’s it goin’ so far?”

                Sunstreaker groaned, rolling over with a grunt and resting his head on Sideswipe’s shoulder. His frame was still hot to the touch, and Sideswipe patted his helm sympathetically.

                “Well, I never thought I’d say I’m tired of fragging. But I’m tired of fragging,” Sideswipe replied, grimacing wryly.

                “Yeah, I bet. Ya know, it usta be like this, way back when,” Jazz said. “A mechling would be paired up with someone else more experienced like a friend of the family or a distant relative. Placed in a safe room, ‘til it was all over. ‘Member, Ratch?”

                “That was a long time ago, Jazz,” Ratchet replied. And did Sideswipe detect a note of shiftiness there?

                Sideswipe grinned. “Really? Do tell us your story, O Great Wrench Wielder.”

                “I’ll wield a wrench right up your exhaust,” Ratchet snapped. Sunstreaker snorted into Sideswipe’s plating.

                “I get Jazz,” Sunstreaker said in a low voice, only audible to Sideswipe’s audios.

                “I’m not protesting,” Sideswipe replied.

                Sunstreaker propped his head up on the point of Sideswipe’s shoulder, chin digging in uncomfortably. “You have a kink. You know that, right?”

                Grinning, Sideswipe shrugged, not so incidentally forcing Sunstreaker’s head up. “Maybe.”

                It wasn’t a secret between the two of them that wings fascinated Sideswipe. Sensory panels were just smaller wings. And to touch Prowl’s forbidden appendages… despite the past few hours, a trace of arousal began to swirl through his lines. If he couldn’t have Ratchet, then Prowl would be an acceptable substitute.

                _I wish it could be Ratchet,_ Sunstreaker said, echoing Sideswipe’s thoughts. _Or just us._

                _Me too. But couldn’t both have him at the same time,_ Sideswipe pointed out reasonably. _And this way we know nobody’s feelings are tied into this stupid heat._

 _Hn. I can’t believe Prowl agreed to this,_ Sunstreaker mused.

                _Yeah. I hope this goes ok._

Sideswipe switched to his vocalizer. “Jazz? You sure you and Prowl are good with this? We don’t want to do anything to screw up your bond.”

                Only silence greeted them. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker looked at one another with worry for a moment before the door on the opposite wall opened.

                “Jazz and I are in complete agreement; we are happy to assist you through your first heat cycle,” Prowl said, entering the room.

                “Like I said… mechs usta help each other out all the time,” Jazz added, coming in behind Prowl and shutting the door behind him. “It was considered an honor t’be asked.”

                There was a quiet click, and Prowl looked over his shoulder at the door. “Do you really think we would _want_ to leave, Ratchet?” he asked, dryly.

                “I highly doubt it,” Ratchet said with a similar tone over the intercom. “I’m more concerned with other mechs trying to get in. Like Optimus, once I wake him up.”

                “Oh, the more the merrier,” Sideswipe quipped, gingerly leveraging himself to a sitting position. Sunstreaker remained prone, arm curled around Sideswipe’s waist. “You getting up, bro?”

                “It’s my berth,” he replied, optics tracking Prowl’s movements as the SIC moved further into the room and gazed at them. “You damage my brother, and I’ll damage you,” Sunstreaker growled, squeezing Sideswipe’s hip possessively before he let Sideswipe stand.

                Jazz and Prowl exchanged glances, Jazz’s lipplates curving upwards in a wide grin. Sideswipe glared down at his twin. Sunstreaker got jealous at the weirdest times.

                “Seriously? I ain’t a wilting flower, you know,” Sideswipe said, taking a step. And promptly stumbled. Jazz leapt forward, propping himself up under Sideswipe’s outflung arm. The saboteur helped Sideswipe halfway across the room before passing him off to Prowl.

                “Pit,” Sideswipe muttered, his optics locked on his barely responsive feet. “That’s not embarrassing or anything.”

                “A heat cycle, especially the first, is very taxing to the systems,” Prowl replied. “I’m sure Ratchet would agree, wouldn’t you, Ratchet?”

                “Absolutely,” Ratchet’s voice said, floating into the room. “And probably more so that you’re…”

                “Twins!” Sideswipe said, throwing up a hand in the arm. “Yeah, yeah, I get it, Ratchet. We make your life miserable,” he groused, carefully sitting on the edge of the berth.

                He shrugged off Prowl’s hand, suddenly more nervous now that Sunstreaker’s comforting presence was on the opposite end of the room. Despite their reputations, they didn’t have many interfacing partners outside of each other. And despite it being an ‘honor’ for the officers, it was still going to be weird to interact with them the next time they partied with Jazz or were reprimanded by Prowl.

                “I wouldn’t say miserable,” Ratchet replied. His voice was quiet, almost hurt. Sideswipe immediately felt bad and opened his mouth to apologize, but Ratchet continued gruffly as if nothing had ever happened.

                “All right, I’ll be keeping an optic on all of you and your vitals. If I see anything abnormal, I’ll be overriding the cycle to assess. Jazz, Prowl… you’ll have some coherency between overloads, so if you feel like you need a rest, just speak or comm. me. Are we set?”

                Jazz and Prowl nodded, Jazz walking over to stand above Sunstreaker. “All set,” Jazz said.

                Sideswipe nodded, optics locked on Sunstreaker’s. His twin sent him a quick burst of warm affection that Sideswipe luxuriated in for several seconds, pulsing back a similar bubble of warmth. Then Sunstreaker’s side of the bond suddenly flared up in a white-hot heat, sending scorching lust shooting across their link and making Sideswipe jerk. The next instant, a wall of flame slammed Sideswipe in the faceplates, and he succumbed to the burn.

 

~ End


	3. Sneaking Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We interrupt our regularly scheduled program to find out what some secondary characters are doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this fic is a fav of many of my readers, so I just wanted to give you all a heads up that I will *not* be waiting another two years to post a new chapter after this one. I already have another 10k words written that just need to be edited. Still may be weeks to months, but definitely not years. 
> 
> This chapter was posted in various drips and drabs on tumblr if anyone feels its familiar. Also thanks to various tumblr folks, including metalloprotease who gave me prompts or asked about this fic.

     “Hey, Ratch…”

     Ratchet looked over his shoulder and saw Wheeljack standing in the doorway of the observation room, looking… odd. 

     “What’s wrong?” Ratchet demanded, spark tightening in dread. Because with the day he was having, certainly nothing could go right. 

     “Is Prime meant to be up and about?” Wheeljack inquired, his helmfins slowly pulsing a color Ratchet had never seen before. And that was saying something since the two of them had known each longer than some of the Ark crew had been alive. Like Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, for example.

     Reason #114 that Ratchet and the twins would never work out. But that was neither here nor there.

     “No. He’s most definitely not,” Ratchet snapped, pushing himself to his feet and sliding past Wheeljack. He jogged down the hall to Optimus’ room and peered through the observation window, expecting to see the Autobot leader pacing. But all he saw was an empty room. He yanked the door open to be sure and even checked under the berth as if it could hide even a fraction of the Prime’s massive frame.

     “Where is he?” Ratchet asked, whirling on one pede and glaring at Wheeljack in accusation. 

     “I’m not sure,” Wheeljack replied, a little sheepishly. “He walked past me towards the main ‘Bay, but then I lost track of ‘im.”

     “You could have told me that before I came in here. And how do you lose a mech that big?!” Ratchet exclaimed, checking all the exam rooms along the hallway. Wheeljack trailed along behind him. 

     “Well, I’m sorry, but I think I’m still in shock over the spiritual leader of our race groping my aft, sniffing my helm, and telling me to come to his quarters later, so I could ‘give him a report’,” Wheeljack retorted. 

     Ratchet halted and slowly turned around to stare at his best friend, catching him using air quotes. “I’m sorry, what?”

     “That’s what he said. He did the finger thing and everything!” Wheeljack said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Really not what I expected when I stopped by, you know?”

     “Sweet baby Primus,” Ratchet whispered. And then jumped a foot in the air when his comm line pinged. 

 **Ratchet, I need your help** , First Aid’s desperate voice said. 

 **What is it?**  Ratchet asked, already having a sneaking suspicion. 

**Well, I was coming back from my break, like you told me to take, and Optimus was just leaving the Bay. And he saw me and he seemed pretty normal, except really happy, and now he… he’s… _touching_ me! **

     Panic was quite evident in First Aid’s tone. Ratchet broke into a sprint for the main doors, cursing himself for not locking Optimus’ recovery room. He just hadn’t thought Optimus would be coming off his sedatives so soon, nor that he would still be affected by the twins’ heat. 

     Ratchet burst through the double doors, skidding to a halt in the hallway. He immediately saw First Aid backed up against the wall just a few feet away. Optimus was leaning over the medic, hand on First Aid’s hip and battle mask nuzzling the side of the younger mech’s helm. 

     First Aid’s head was turned toward Ratchet, hands held out to the sides and trembling. He seemed to be doing his absolute best to touch Prime as little as possible, but Optimus wasn’t exactly making that easy on him.

     “Optimus Prime, you back off from him right this instant!” Ratchet barked, striding forward. 

     Optimus looked up, his optics crinkling at the corners as he smiled behind the mask. “Ratchet!” he greeted cheerfully, stepping away from First Aid. As soon as there was enough room, First Aid darted toward Ratchet and then past him, making a beeline to the Med Bay and its relative safety. 

     “You’re not supposed to be up yet,” Ratchet told Optimus, not liking the gleam in the gaze now directed at him. “You’re not well.”

     “Ah. Hmm, perhaps not. But you, doctor… _you_ are quite fine,” Optimus purred, reaching out. 

     Ratchet knocked Optimus’ hand aside and glared up at the other mech. “Get your aft back inside and go right to your room. And stop molesting my apprentice! And Wheeljack!” he added after recalling Wheeljack’s dazed expression.

     “What if I don’t? Are you going to spank me?” Optimus asked, flirtatiously. And Ratchet saw now why Wheeljack had been so shocked. They had both known Optimus for a long time; he did _not_ flirt.

     Behind him, Ratchet heard a choked sound and realized Wheeljack had followed him out into the hallway. The engineer was staring at Optimus with wide optics, a look of horrid fascination on his face. 

     “I might at that. Now get!” Ratchet commanded, pointing at the doors. 

     “Yes, Doctor,” Optimus replied demurely, nodding his head at Ratchet. As the large mech walked by, he simultaneously managed to wink salaciously at Wheeljack and ghost a hand over Ratchet’s rear before pushing his way through the MedBay doors. 

     Ratchet jumped several feet into the air at the grope and glared at the back of Prime’s head.

     “Oh, Primus,” Wheeljack said, sounding a little strangled. “This is surreal. But I bet that’s the most action you’ve gotten in a while.”

     Ratchet shook his head, gritting his denta. “You have no idea, Jackie. You have no idea.” 

 

\--

 

     “Ratchet says you’re still fully conscious of everything you’re doing; your inhibitions are just lowered. And you’re going to be mortified tomorrow mornin’ when this is all over,” Wheeljack said, closing the room door behind him. The lock engaged with a loud click as he rested his back against the doorframe. Fortunate that he was listed as an adjunct medic and had access to the general lock codes for the Medical Bay.

     Fortunate also that the rest of the on duty medics were otherwise occupied. First Aid technically had control of Medical but the young medic had holed himself up in the office to recover from his encounter with Prime. And after re-securing Optimus, Ratchet had immediately headed back to the twins’ observation room. Supposedly to monitor all the heat participants, but Wheeljack secretly suspected Ratchet was indulging in a little martyrdom.

     His best friend had always had a… _special_ … relationship with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. But over the past few years a touch of wistfulness had crept into his optics whenever he gazed at the twins behind their backs. Ratchet was prone to denying himself even the smallest bit of happiness and so he had never done anything about his desire for Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Watching others interface the twins had to be sheer torture for the medic, and Wheeljack _did_ feel quite badly for his best friend.

     But he was also going to take full advantage of the fact that Ratchet wasn’t watching Prime’s room.

     Optimus leisurely turned and regarded Wheeljack, raising an orbital ridge. “Perhaps. But how could I be embarrassed about the future of our race? I am the spiritual leader of our species and our deity is urging me to see to our continuation. How can I do anything but its bidding?” 

     He laid a hand over his chest, the plates shifting so that a shimmer of blue sparklight and something else, something golden, shone into the room. 

     Wheeljack licked his lips behind his blast mask. “Well. I ain’t get a direct line to Primus in my chest cavity. But I _am_ a daddy five times over, so I have  _some_ experience in the area.”

     A loud purr filled the room as Optimus began stalking Wheeljack. “And how do  _you_  expect to feel in the morning?” Optimus murmured, his battlemask retracting as his hands reached for Wheeljack’s waist. Wheeljack’s own mask slid aside and the cool air of the isolation room caressed the lower half of his face.

     Wheeljack took in a large vent, holding it out and releasing it as one of Optimus’ large thighs pressed between his, nudging up against Wheeljack’s interface panel. 

     “Well, frankly…I expect to not be able to walk. Which is going to make the ringing in my audials from Ratchet’s screaming all that much worse since I won’t be able to get away from it,” Wheeljack replied, daring to press his hands against Optimus’ chestplates. Wheeljack’s thumb rubbed over the Prime’s central seam, causing the mech’s optic shutters to tremble and the rumble of his engine to increase in volume. 

     “I’ll make it worth your while,” Optimus whispered, bending his head, his optics fixated on Wheeljack’s lips.   

 

\-- 

 

     Wheeljack kind of thought he would be plowed through the medical berth as soon as their interface arrays were barred. Instead, Optimus was all soft kisses and gentle, lingering touches. He murmured praises for Wheeljack’s body, practically worshiping every sharp edge and pitted piece of armor. 

     As Optimus’ fingers caught on a dent on Wheeljack’s thigh he wished he had at least taken a trip to the washracks prior to sneaking in, but he wasn’t going to break things off now. 

     It was… _heady_ … to be touched this. As if he were cherished. It made his spark throb, a warm heavy presence in his chest. And of course his interface array was thrilled as well, his spike swelling and bumping against Optimus’ hip, lubricant from Wheeljack’s valve decorating Optimus’ wide thigh.  

     He ground against the smooth metal of Optimus’ leg, the ache in his pelvis distracting. He wanted more, but Optimus seemed content to just continue as they were despite his own spike pulsing hotly in the space between their bodies. 

     “Optimus…” Wheeljack whispered in a half squeak as the Prime’s fingers massaged the joints of his winglets. 

     “Yes, Wheeljack?” Optimus replied immediately, large engine rumbling excitedly. 

     “Do you… how would you…?” Wheeljack trailed off, suddenly embarrassed. How was he supposed to ask the Prime how he wanted to frag? It just seemed so… uncouth… despite the fact that that was definitely what they were about to do. 

     Optimus raised himself up, peering down into Wheeljack’s face with a small smile. And oh, whoever would have thought the Prime’s lips were so shapely behind that battle mask?

     “How do you want me?”

     Wheeljack gaped up at Optimus. “How do I… ain’t _you_ the one getting messages from that glowy thing inside here?” he asked, reaching up and knocking on Optimus’ chestplate. The other mech shuddered, the transformation seams of his chest widening in a sudden jerk before they resettled. 

     “I am. But I want you to be completely comfortable; there is somewhat of a size difference between us,” Optimus explained, expression dreamy. 

     And that was a heady too thing. Wheeljack pressed against the central plate covering Optimus’ spark chamber and the Prime moaned, grinding down atop Wheeljack’s body with a sensuous shimmy. 

     “Oh, I’m perfectly comfortable,” Wheeljack said absently, digging fingertips into the spreading cracks of Optimus’ chest. 

     “Wheeljack…!” Optimus gasped, back arching to push his ventrum harder against Wheeljack’s touch. “If you persist in that, I will not be able to control myself for much longer!”

     Wheeljack arched up, rubbing his hood against Optimus’ chest, his array practically burning with need. “Then don’t, Optimus. I kinda wanna see you out of control, big guy.” 

     Optimus moaned helplessly, his movements jerky as reached between them to fondle Wheeljack’s dripping equipment. He fumbled for Wheeljack’s spike, redirecting it, and then Optimus slammed himself down upon it with enough force to rattle their frames. 

     Wheeljack couldn’t even identify the embarrassing sound that he made as he penetrated the other mech. The noise was immediately lost anyway, in the frantic movements of Optimus’ hips as he rode Wheeljack. 

     “My… apologies…” Optimus gasped. “I need…”

     “Take it!” Wheeljack yelped, vision a shower of sparks at the sudden burst of pleasure in his groin. All he could do was hang on to Optimus’ frame, fingers still working at the transformation seams to the other mech’s chest. “Anything!”

     “Spark… your spark… please!” 

     Wheeljack’s fingers practically fell into Optimus’ chest cavity as the mech’s armor finally moved aside completely. Heat washed up Wheeljack’s arms and he realized one hand was pressed against the Matrix while the other skirted the outside of Optimus’ frantically beating spark. 

     Wheeljack stared into the sky blue orb, at the tendrils flicking out against his fingers. He stroked the delicate corona, and Optimus threw his head back with a guttural groan. 

     Any and all semblance of control had left Prime now, his expression twisted into one of frank desperation. Wheeljack liked seeing that, liked knowing that _he_ was the cause of that. It made him feel humble and powerful and he would do almost anything to continue to see that look on Optimus’ face. 

     “Your spark… please, Wheejack!” Optimus keened, grinding down on Wheeljack’s spike. 

     He didn’t even stop to consider the request. Wheeljack’s plating shifted aside, Optimus making a greedy sound as the space between them warmed even more.

     “I’m… it’s…” Wheeljack thought to protest as Optimus moved to bring their chests into alignment. He meant to say his spark wasn’t worthy, that it was full of doubt and fear, and probably nothing at all like what a Prime’s spark should be touching, but Optimus almost instantly seemed to know what Wheeljack was trying to say. 

     “It’s beautiful. I’m honored, Wheeljack,” Optimus whispered, his hips slowing enough so that their chests gently brushed one another. Wheeljack’s plating was already so hypersensitive that the touch sent an electrical charge straight up his backstrut, making him shiver. 

     “Don’t be afraid,” Optimus murmured, and then their sparks touched. 

     It was like a supernova exploded in the space between their bodies. Wheeljack stared blindly up at the ceiling, mouth open in a spiraling cry. He’d merged before, but none of his other experiences had ever been like this. 

     It was like the entirety of the world, of the galaxy, of the known universe bore down on him, lifted him up, surrounded him. He felt very, very small, and he _would_  be afraid except that Optimus was there with him, flooding him with adoration and respect. 

     And need. So much need and lust. 

     Distantly, Wheeljack felt Optimus moving atop him again, but the pleasure there was nothing in comparison to being caressed at his very core. 

     It lasted forever and only an instant, his spark shrinking down to a hard knot of need that matched Optimus’. Then it burst, his frame shutting down external sensors until everything within him was focused on his spark. 

     The intensity of it both hurt and thrilled him. As gratitude, he offered up his entire self, as paltry as that was in comparison to the greatness that was the Prime, to the other mech. 

     And Optimus took it, every minuscule atom. Took it, absorbed it, and exchanged himself in return. 

    Somewhere in the flood of fondness and love, Wheeljack passed out, too overwhelmed and exhausted to stay online. 

 

~End


	4. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first to go into heat is the first to come out of it.

** This chapter is rated dub-con. Please see the end of the chapter for details **

 

 

     Prowl’s doorwings fluttered every time he overloaded. 

     In another time and place, Ratchet would probably find that both arousing and cute, if it wasn’t Sideswipe who writhed beneath Prowl’s frame, shouting out his own climax. 

     It wasn’t any easier to watch Jazz atop Sunstreaker.

     Ratchet’d been around the frontliner too much if Ratchet thought white and gold was a horrible color combination. And Jazz was just so much… _smaller_ than Sunstreaker.

     He’d overloaded at least two dozen times by now; enough stimulation would get the job done, especially as caught up in the heat cycle as he was. But Ratchet was certain that Sunstreaker would overload harder and faster with a larger body that was better able to really drive into the frontliner’s soaked and hungry valve. 

     A frame heavier and sturdier than Jazz’s. A body like Ratchet’s.

     Ratchet groaned and angrily thumbed off the video feed from the isolation room. 

     Vitals. He was supposed to be monitoring vitals. Not wishing he were in that room instead of Jazz and Prowl. 

     Fortunately, the twins were fine. Their sparkrates were elevated of course, but they weren’t spiking abnormally like they had been. Now that Ratchet had stopped overriding their cycles, their heats were proceeding normally.

     He wondered how much longer they would go for. He’d seen initial heat cycles last over a week, but the twins’ were abnormally strong, their frames barely cycling down at all between overloads. At this rate, their bodies might peak in a few more hours. And when they did, they’d probably be exhausted, especially after all the earlier fiddling he’d done with the overrides.

     Ratchet could technically monitor the twins from anywhere in the Ark. There was no reason for him to sit here in front of the camera feed and torture himself with things he couldn’t have. No matter what Sideswipe had said. The frontliner had been under the influence of an intense heat; of course he would say anything to get his partner to continue interfacing him.

     Sighing heavily, Ratchet pushed himself to his feet. The twins would need energon and coolant, and Sunstreaker was guaranteed to demand cleaning products for both himself and his brother. Ratchet could keep himself busy by gathering everything together and checking in on Optimus again.

     Fragging Prime had better not have escaped again…

\--

     His heat ended much like it had begun. Quickly and violently.

     Awareness started to return just as he overloaded one last time. And it was wrong, all wrong. The mech above was too small, too light. His scent wasn’t familiar, and he had Sunstreaker’s wrists pinned above his head, which Sideswipe would never, _ever_ do to him.

     Sunstreaker couldn’t stop the climax that washed over him, his body responding to stimulus despite himself. Fortunately, it was a weak overload and ended quickly. The mech on top of him was another story. He continued to pump his spike in and out of Sunstreaker’s valve, mindlessly caught up in his own drive to completion.

     “Stop,” Sunstreaker rasped, body collapsing to the berth after its arch in pleasure. “It’s over, I’m done.”

     He felt exhausted, weak and drained, and he could barely twist his wrists out of the other mech’s loose grip. His optics remained offline; they were the last barrier between him and the reality he didn’t want to face right now.

     Suddenly the other frame on top of him stiffened, and Sunstreaker’s valve nodes registered a wash of heat over them. Both Sunstreaker and the other mech shuddered, but Sunstreaker’s shiver was pure disgust.

     “Get off me,” Sunstreaker croaked when the other mech’s spike finally stopped spurting.

     He finally opened his optics, reluctantly acknowledging Jazz. The 3IC’s optical visor was glowing nearly white, and Jazz was panting heavily, condensation slicking his frame. Both of their frames, Sunstreaker realized. He was dripping too, the berth padding heavily damp with their combined fluids. Sunstreaker despised the feel of his own body, hated the wrongness of Jazz’s frame atop his, and he started thrashing in an attempt to get out from under the other mech.

     “Woah, woah, Sunny!” Jazz exclaimed softly, wearily pushing himself up onto his palms and then to his knees. His spike slipped free, and Sunstreaker shuddered again as his valve started seeping lubricant and transfluid. He wanted a washrack immediately, and the water needed to be scorching hot.

     “Are you ok?” Jazz asked, placing a hand on Sunstreaker’s knee. It was probably meant to be comforting but Sunstreaker didn’t want anyone touching him right now. Only Sideswipe.

     Where the pit was Sideswipe?

     A spiraling cry off to his side was his answer.

     Jazz’s head shot up and he licked his lips as he stared across the room to where Prow continually thrust in and out of Sideswipe’s frame. His brother’s arms and legs were wound around Prowl’s body and either he was really into things with Prowl or he was still caught up in his heat.

     A quick probe through the bond proved the latter, and Sunstreaker hurriedly shoved a block between him and Sideswipe. He had had quite enough of that mindless need for a lifetime, thank you.

     “Hmm… well, since you’re done, maybe I’ll pay Sides a visit,” Jazz murmured dazedly, clumsily trying to get off the bed.

     And Pit _no_. One on one: that had been the agreement.

     Sunstreaker tried to hook his pede around Jazz’s waist and yank him back. His leg lifted a few inches off the berth and then flopped back down uselessly. A jerk of his upper body proved that he couldn’t even sit up.

     “No! Jazz, come ‘ere. I’m not quite done after all. Come on, finish me off,” Sunstreaker called out in a cajoling manner even through every atom of his being rebelled against the idea.

     Jazz glanced behind him, legs dangling over the side of the bed. His head tilted to the side in consideration.

     “Temptin’, Sunshine. But I’ve never given yer bro a go. Kinda always wanted to,” he said and pushed himself to standing. He swayed in place, gaining his balance, and Sunstreaker tried once more to reach for the other mech. He managed to throw himself onto his side, fingers missing Jazz’s arm by several feet.

     Jazz took a wobbly step away from the berth, and Sunstreaker panicked. He started flailing even more, but to no avail. He didn’t know what would happen if Jazz made it over to Sideswipe’s berth. Would Prowl just step aside? Would they try to enter him at the same time? Would Sideswipe be hurt?

     His pride be damned, Sunstreaker hurriedly activated his private comm unit.

 **Ratchet! Ratchet, get in here!** Sunstreaker bellowed, Jazz now nearly a third of the way across the room. **I’ve finished, and Jazz is going for Sideswipe!**

     Ratchet never answered him. Instead moments later the door unlocked, and Ratchet burst in. He stopped just inside the doorway, his sharp gaze observing the situation. Calmly, far too calmly for Sunstreaker’s piece of mind, Ratchet strolled forward towards Jazz. Somehow a cube of steaming energon appeared in his hand, and he offered it to the third in command.

     “Jazz, why don’t you take a break before you join Prowl?” Ratchet asked quietly.

     Jazz blinked a little, swaying in place again. Then he nodded.

     “Yeah. Levels _are_ a little low,” Jazz said in agreement and reached for the container with both hands. He knocked the cube back, swallowing the contents in several gulps. His optics closed to savor the fuel and Ratchet struck.

     Faster than Sunstreaker thought the medic could move, Ratchet thrust one of his medical probes into the port at the base of Jazz’s neck. Jazz stiffened, the cube dropping from his hands to clatter on the floor.

     “Rest, Jazz. Don’t fight me, just rest,” Ratchet murmured, sliding an arm along Jazz’s waist as the saboteur swayed. Ratchet’s optics flickered madly for several seconds and then Jazz abruptly slumped in place, Ratchet quickly scooping him up.

     “I’ve shut him down,” Ratchet informed Sunstreaker, hefting the smaller mech into his arms. “I should have anticipated you coming up out of your heat before your brother. If I had been smart I’d have installed remote shut downs in these guys as well. I was lucky he was worn out; I might not have managed that so easily otherwise.”

     Sunstreaker shivered. Jazz was dangerous in a way neither Sunstreaker nor Sideswipe could be. It was a good thing that the third in command hadn’t perceived Ratchet as a threat. It wasn’t like Sunstreaker would have been able to do anything if he had.

     “Do I have to stay?” Sunstreaker asked as Ratchet turned to leave. To Sunstreaker’s horror, his voice sounded small and pleading, and Ratchet blinked surprised optics at him.

     “No. No, you don’t have to stay,” Ratchet replied, gaze flicking over to the still moving frames on Sideswipe’s berth before meeting Sunstreaker’s optics again. “Let me secure this one, and I’ll be right back.”

     Ratchet hurried out of the room, and Sunstreaker slumped back against his soggy mattress. One crisis averted, at least. Now if he could just get cleaned up, he’d be heading in the right direction.

     Sideswipe cried out again, and Sunstreaker turned his head, offlining both his audials and optics. They took lovers very infrequently and usually discussed it at length beforehand. He knew Jazz and Prowl’s participation had been necessary and the idea had been intriguing at first. But realistically, he and Sideswipe would never have considered asking the officers to their berth before this.

     Even though Prowl and Sideswipe had been interfacing for hours now, to Sunstreaker, he was seeing it for the first time. And the burning surge of jealousy and anger confirmed that he did not like what he was seeing. Or hearing.

     He felt the air currents shift, and he onlined his sensors in time to see Ratchet come to a stop in front of Sunstreaker’s berth. The medic’s face was carefully blank as he surveyed Sunstreaker’s form.

     “You are _not_ carrying _me_ ,” Sunstreaker ground out between clenched denta. Ratchet’s mouth twitched as if he were about to protest, but he nodded and stayed silent.

     Sunstreaker quickly realized he should have let Ratchet carry him. But he was already embarrassed enough over his earlier behavior around the one mech they had been pining over for years. So instead, Ratchet hoisted him to his feet and practically dragged him out of the room, Sunstreaker’s pedes tangling themselves together more than taking proper steps.

     He hadn’t realized how strong Ratchet was. But he supported nearly all of Sunstreaker’s weight the whole way out into the main bay and down a small hallway to another one of the isolation rooms. This one had its own washrack, and Sunstreaker stared at it longingly as Ratchet hefted him up onto the exam table.

     But first things first.

     “How much longer will Sideswipe be?” Sunstreaker demanded as Ratchet arranged Sunstreaker’s limbs into a more comfortable position. It rankled that Sunstreaker couldn’t even lift his own legs up onto the berth.

     Ratchet shrugged, tugging over a small supplies cart. “Sideswipe said he was with you for several hours before he called me. So I’m guessing it will be a few more before his heat stops too.”

     “Why’d I go first?”

     The medic shrugged again, this time rolling his optics. “I honestly have no idea. But he’ll be safe with just Prowl.”

     “Is the door locked? No one can get in?”

     Sunstreaker didn’t like that he was so far away from his twin. Not that he could do much if something else went wrong, but still.

     “No one can get in but the medics. That particular room even has its own ventilation system, which is why I placed you both there,” Ratchet replied reassuringly. “And I still have your brother on remote monitor. Now do you want to get cleaned up?”

     The medic lifted up a damp cleansing rag, and Sunstreaker blinked at it as Ratchet’s hand hovered over Sunstreaker’s abdomen.

     “You? You’re going to clean me up?” Sunstreaker asked doubtfully. His plating crawled and itched; he definitely wanted to be cleaned, but that warred with the embarrassment of being unable to do it himself. Ratchet's assistance in getting here had been bad enough.

      Ratchet raised an orbital ridge in challenge. “If you can even lift an arm over your head, I’d be surprised.”

     Well. Ratchet had a point there. And Sunstreaker _really_ wanted to be clean. Or cleaner, as a sponge bath wasn’t going to completely do the job. But it would have to do.

     “Fine,” Sunstreaker sighed, desperately wishing Sideswipe was here. He would know what to say to Ratchet, or at least be able to joke and fill the silence. Because that was all Sunstreaker would be able to offer as Ratchet washed away the embarrassing evidence of his heat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated dub-con. The twins are pretty private and don't 'face many other mechs without a lot of consideration first. They acknowledged that they needed partners other than themselves or Ratchet for the heat, but they never really got a chance to talk it over with Prowl and Jazz first. There was no coherent foreplay or 'facing. Just all of a sudden, Sunstreaker wakes up and is being fragged. It's a bit of a shock, especially when Jazz keeps going (while still under the influence of heat pheromones) and Sunstreaker's too weak to do much but lie there. It's disturbing to Sunny, so I thought it might be triggery to readers as well.


	5. Reconnecting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe comes out of heat next. Ratchet once more to the rescue!

     Sideswipe didn’t _quite_ panic as the heat abruptly left his systems, but it was a very near thing. The last he recalled was looking across the room into Sunstreaker’s optics, Prowl standing a few feet away.

     Now Sunstreaker was absent, and Prowl was on top of Sideswipe… and not just on top of him, but _in_ him. When the frag had that happened?!

     Vents hitching in distress, Sideswipe shuddered and did his best to _not_ reflexively punch the Autobot 2IC in the side of helm. Prowl needed that head. That head kept Sideswipe and Sunstreaker and everyone else alive on the battlefield. So it was in Sideswipe’s best interests to keep Prowl’s processor intact.

     Instead, Sideswipe clenched his optics shut and retreated a little into his _own_ head, following the bond in search of his brother. Sunstreaker felt reassuringly close by, likely somewhere else in Medical. He didn’t rouse at Sideswipe’s tentative probe and was practically radiating exhaustion so Sideswipe refrained from ‘shoving’ him awake. Sideswipe was a big boy; he could handle this on his own.

     But just to be safe, he kept part of himself submerged in their link, holding on to that familiar warmth of his twin’s spark.  

     Seconds later, Sideswipe felt a bloom of heat deep inside his valve and his tanks roiled in disgust. Prowl’s movements lessened and then stopped completely as he slumped down atop Sideswipe.

     “Ok, well, thank you,” Sideswipe said faintly. He cracked one optic open to see Prowl’s forehelm resting against Sideswipe’s chest, the other mech panting heavily. “Heat’s all over now, can you get off me?”

     “Sideswipe?” Prowl said fuzzily, shifting slightly. At the motion, his spike stirred within Sideswipe’s valve and a protesting whine welled up in the back of his throat. The 2IC’s doorwings waved gently above Prowl’s back, but not even the sight of those normally tempting appendages could distract Sideswipe.

     It would have been one thing to start out in possession of his mind and ease into the fragging with some foreplay, even a little chatting. But Sideswipe had missed _everything_ and now here he was, penetrated by a superior officer.

     His processor knew it was Prowl above him, _knew_ Sideswipe’s body had welcomed the other mech in, but his instincts were telling him something completely different.  

     “Get off me. Please. Please, please, _please_ ,” Sideswipe chanted, shutting off his visual input again. He tried moving, but his limbs responded sluggishly, which did not help his anxiety at _all_. Sideswipe’s body wasn’t working right… he couldn’t fight, couldn’t flee… and Prowl didn’t seem to be in any hurry to get off him. Instinctively, he reached for his twin again. He wanted Sunny and he wanted him _now_ ; screw doing this on his own.

     That desperation and need leaked across their bond and in the back of his head, Sideswipe finally felt Sunstreaker stir. He wasn’t truly aware yet, but Sideswipe latched on to him anyway, tugging and pulling in an attempt to move him faster into consciousness.

     “Are you sure you’re done?” Prowl asked and _wow_ , he sure could do seductive when he wanted to. Sideswipe really wished he didn’t know that.

     Sideswipe felt himself ventilating faster and faster, his fans spinning at their highest speed, but nothing was helping him cool down. In fact, his temperature just seemed to be rising.

     “I’m done. I’m done!” Sideswipe exclaimed in a thready, high-pitched voice. Was that really him? “Can you just…?”

     “If you needed one more overload, I’d be happy to give it to you,” Prowl purred, withdrawing and thrusting forward slightly.

     Primus damned pheromones, Sideswipe through dimly as the panic finally took over.

     “Off! Get off me! Sunny!” Sideswipe screeched, doing his best to thrash out from under the other mech’s bulk. He still had his optics shuttered, unwilling to look into Prowl’s face, and all he could hear were his own cries echoing around him. All he could smell was ‘facing fluids and he felt sticky and _pinned down_ and why wasn’t Prowl getting up?!

     The weight on top of him abruptly disappeared and even the sudden sting from Prowl’s spike being torn from his valve was a relief. Sideswipe continued to flop around, desperate to get his body to respond properly. He was never going into a heat again if this was how it made him, weak and helpless and scared…

     “-wipe, Sideswipe!”

     His name shouted in his audial made Sideswipe jerk, his optic shutters flying open. Ratchet’s irritated face filled Sideswipe’s field of view and Ratchet wasn’t Sunstreaker, but he _was_ the next best thing. With one great heave, Sideswipe threw himself in Ratchet’s general direction.

     “I want Sunny, I need Sunny,” Sideswipe heard himself babbling, voice barely recognizable as his. “Please, Ratchet, please…!”

     “All right, all right! Sideswipe, just... stop, you’re fine,” Ratchet replied crossly, hands slipping on Sideswipe’s condensation-slicked plating as he tried to hold him. “Sunstreaker’s in one of the other rooms; he finished before you did.”

     “I’m done now, too, right? I don’t want it anymore. Please don’t make me do it anymore,” Sideswipe whimpered, hiding his face against Ratchet’s arm. His frame hurt, and he was filthy, and he’d rather die than let another mech between this thighs right now.

     “You don’t have to,” Ratchet murmured, finally getting ahold of Sideswipe and pulling him against his chest. Sideswipe allowed himself to be cradled against that wide windshield, his ventilations finally starting to slow as familiar hands patted his shoulders. “It’s over. Sideswipe, it’s over. Let’s get you to your brother. You’ve probably pulled him out of recharge at this rate. Can you walk?”

     Sideswipe reared back in disbelief, staring at Ratchet’s face. “I can’t even sit up!” he said hysterically. “What’s wrong with me!?”

     “You’re exhausted,” Ratchet explained gently. Which was no explanation at all really. Sideswipe had been stepped on by Menasor once before and what he felt then was nothing in comparison to what he was going through now.

     “Did I… did I hurt him?” Prowl’s hesitant voice floated up from behind Ratchet, and Sideswipe looked up automatically. He caught a glimpse of the second in command moving closer, and Sideswipe ducked down behind Ratchet’s bulk, spark spinning so fast he thought it would burst from his chest.

     Which was dumb. He was _fine_. Well, ok, no, he wasn’t, but his interface array didn’t hurt. Prowl hadn’t damaged him at all; a quick diagnostic told Sideswipe that. The heat was over, and Prowl seemed to be in control of himself now. The tactician wasn’t going to frag Sideswipe again. It would be ok.

     Sideswipe repeated that to himself, over and over, pressing even closer to his impromptu shield.

     “No. No, I’m not sensing any damage. Sunstreaker was much the same,” Ratchet answered, his voice echoing beneath Sideswipe’s audial sensor.

     And that reminded him…

     “I can see Sunny now? I want Sunny. Carry me,” Sideswipe demanded, lifting his head back up and squirming in what he hoped was an imperious matter.

     This close, he could see the amused quirk of Ratchet’s lips, but he didn’t care if Ratchet thought him sparkling-like. Normally Sideswipe would have done all that he could to continue languishing in Ratchet’s arms, but Sideswipe needed Sunstreaker with a burning urgency he couldn’t explain. He just knew they needed to be together as soon as possible.

     “You don’t mind if I carry you?” Ratchet asked, raising an orbital ridge in question.  

     “Well, I can’t walk, how else am I supposed to get there?” Sideswipe replied crossly.

     It wasn’t like Ratchet couldn’t do it. After turning off Sunstreaker’s heat cycle, he had lifted Sideswipe’s brother as if he had weighed nothing. Sideswipe hadn’t been able to give the act his full focus as his heat had switched on with a vengeance then, but he remembered a small thread of processing power devoted to being impressed by Ratchet’s strength.

     Ratchet snorted. “Just checking. Let me get a better grip on you,” he said, gently placing Sideswipe’s upper body back on the berth. This put Prowl in full view again, the tactician now a good distance away. His doorwings were hiked high, his groin liberally coated with transfluid and lubricant. Despite Prowl’s panel now being closed, Sideswipe still shuddered at the reminder of their interface. As soon as the medic lifted him up, Sideswipe turned his face away, not wanting to look at Prowl any more.  

     “Ratchet? Where’s Jazz?” Prowl questioned softly as Ratchet took his first step away from the exam berth. His arms held Sideswipe without even the tiniest hint of strain, and Sideswipe relaxed into the hold. He let his heavy head rest on Ratchet’s shoulder and heartily wished Prowl would frag off so Ratchet could reunite Sideswipe with his twin.

     “Room four,” Ratchet replied, not even pausing to answer Prowl, earning more points from Sideswipe. “Let me get these two settled, and then I’ll be back to check on you and Jazz.”

     “Certainly.” Prowl’s floated out after them as Ratchet strode into the hallway.

     Despite his best intentions, Sideswipe’s optic shutters slipped closed. It was too much effort to hold them open and it wasn’t like he needed to see where they were going. He trusted Ratchet would get him there. Instead, Sideswipe curled his hand loosely over Ratchet’s chest, counting the strong, steady beats of the medic’s spark.

     Several seconds later, Ratchet’s steps slowed and then stopped.

     “All right, here we go,” Ratchet announced. Sideswipe heard the sound of a door hissing aside and when he looked up, there was Sunstreaker, laid out on a narrow berth in the center of the room. His head up was, and he was gazing at Sideswipe in concern.

     Sunstreaker weakly raised a hand, and Sideswipe began struggling, doing his best to arch his body in his twin’s direction.

     “Stop it. Sideswipe, stop, I’ll drop you!” Ratchet chided, hands slipping on Sideswipe’s armor. He paused mid-step as he adjusted his grip.

     “Then drop me on Sunny,” Sideswipe gasped as Ratchet squeezed him against the medic’s chest in an attempt to get a better hold on him.

     “He’ll fit,” Sunstreaker croaked in encouragement of the idea, fingers stretching desperately.

     “Please. Please!” Sideswipe panted, optics only for Sunstreaker. The need to touch his twin and reconnect with him was becoming overwhelming. He just couldn’t make himself be still, no matter how much easier it would make things on Ratchet.

     The medic huffed and crossed the remainder of the distance to Sunstreaker’s berth in three quick strides. It took a fair bit of maneuvering, but Sideswipe ended up with most of his body on top of Sunstreaker. It was enough that he could see his brother’s face and feel the familiar echo of his spark from where they were pressed chest to chest.

     “Are you ok? Are you ok?” Sideswipe demanded as soon as he was settled.

     Hands trembling, he hooked his fingers into the seams of Sunstreaker’s chest. Sunstreaker did the same to Sideswipe’s hips, anchoring themselves to one another as they both minutely squirmed, trying to get even closer. Sideswipe could barely keep his head up, but he managed because he couldn’t bear to look away from Sunstreaker’s gaze. Sunny often went non-verbal in times of stress, but Sideswipe had always been able to glean a wealth of information from his brother’s optics.

     “Fine, I’m fine,” Sunstreaker muttered back, nuzzling the side of Sideswipe’s nasal ridge and pressing sloppy kisses against his cheek. “I’m sorry… you were still going and I couldn’t watch… but I shouldn’t have left, I should have stayed…”

     “No, no, it’s ok,” Sideswipe rushed to reassure him, turning his head so their lips could meet. “You couldn’t have done anything. He just wouldn’t get _off_ … I couldn’t _move_ …”

     “Me too. Me too,” Sunstreaker breathed against the corner of Sideswipe’s mouth. “Your spark… open… need…”

     “Yes. Oh, yes, _yes_ ,” Sideswipe chanted in agreement, triggering the locks on his chest plating. Sunstreaker’s was already shifting beneath him, their armor scraping against each other as the protective barriers slid away.

     Sideswipe’s spark _ached_ , hard and angry and tight with anticipation. _This_ was what he needed. Their bond was wide open now, but it wasn’t enough. Sideswipe felt dirty and used and only Sunstreaker’s presence at the core of him could erase Prowl’s touch.

     His awareness of Ratchet took a back seat as base code protocols went into effect. It took only seconds for their crystal casings to shift aside and then their sparks were bare against one another. They spat and fizzled until their edges lined up and then the two halves became whole once more.

     Sideswipe became Sunstreaker and Sunstreaker became Sideswipe and with the deepest sense of relief, Sideswipe lost himself.

 

 ~ End Chapter 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rated for dub-con for the same reasons as the last. Sideswipe wakes up in a completely different position as when he started, including having a strange spike in him. Also, Prowl is under the influence of pheromones for just a little while past when Sideswipe's heat ends


	6. Reviewing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ratchet takes stock. And then goes to bed.

     “Sweet _Primus_ ,” Ratchet cursed softly as the glow from the twins’ cores put the overhead lights to shame. Their merged spark pulsed once, twice, and then flashed so brilliantly that Ratchet had to turn his head aside, rapidly blinking his optics to clear them.

     A moment later, the bright glow dimmed and then went out between one sparkbeat and the next. Ratchet hurriedly turned back, suddenly terrified he would find the twins offlined. But although Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were utterly limp, they still ventilated, chest armor already shifting back into place to hide their individual sparks from view.

     Ratchet stepped close and ran a quick scan over them. Other than being knocked out from exhaustion, they seemed fine. Venting a sigh, Ratchet wearily wiped a hand down his face.

     Twins.

     He had never seen a heat go so quickly and violently, had never witnessed mecha so upset while coming up out of it. Their vitals indicated the twins’ awakening had been sudden instead of a gradual emergence, so that probably had a lot to do with it. Sunstreaker at least, had been preoccupied by his brother’s predicament; Ratchet was pretty sure Sideswipe had been gearing up for a full blown panic attack.

     Even though they had been the ones to suggest Jazz and Prowl, Ratchet suspected they were going to regret that choice. Sunstreaker had kept twitching as Ratchet had cleaned him and Sideswipe had actively hid from Prowl behind Ratchet.

     Would it have been any better if…?

     But no. There was no use speculating now.

     Ratchet gazed at Sideswipe and Sunstreaker for several minutes more before sighing and turning towards the door. He didn’t think cleaning Sideswipe would wake them, but he didn’t want to take the chance. Their taxed systems needed all the rest they could get. Deciding to leave them tangled together, he pulled out a warming blanket from the room’s supplies closet and draped it over the both of them. They didn’t even stir as the folds of fabric settled around them.

     He still had both remote monitors running in the back of his HUD, so Ratchet would at least know when the twins woke. As soon as they did, he was going to stuff energon down their intakes; Sunstreaker was a little better off, but if Sideswipe’s fuel levels decreased too much more, his body would trigger shutdown.

     Ratchet wouldn’t let him get that far. They needed rest, but after a certain point, they’d need fuel more. He didn’t know how long it would take for them to surface from their exhaustion. It could be hours or days; he could never truly predict what the twins would do. But if he had to he’d wake them up and spike their lines directly. Nevertheless, he should have enough time to follow up with Prowl and Jazz in the meantime.

     Ratchet left the isolation room, closing and locking the door behind him. It was only a short walk to where he had deposited Jazz earlier, and he didn’t even knock when he reached the room. He merely pushed the door open and entered to see Prowl stretched out on the berth beside his bonded.

     Prowl lifted his head from Jazz’s shoulder and blinked tiredly at Ratchet. “He is in medical stasis. Why?”

     Always blunt and to the point; Ratchet appreciated that about Prowl. “Sunstreaker’s heat finished first, several hours before his brother’s. Sunstreaker commed me saying Jazz was heading towards Sideswipe. I didn’t quite know how that would turn out, so for everyone’s safety, I thought it best to shut Jazz down.”

     “Oh.” Prowl considered Ratchet’s reply for a moment before nodding in acceptance. “Thank you for cleaning him.”

     Prowl appeared to already have used the room’s small washracks himself. Ratchet didn’t see even a speck of interfacing fluids on the 2IC’s frame.

     “There wasn’t much else going on after I got Sunstreaker settled,” Ratchet said, shrugging.

     “The twins? How are they?” Prowl paused, his optics flickering. “Not much time has passed, I would have thought…”

     Ratchet heaved a sigh. “Sunstreaker and Sideswipe are often a medical mystery. Most of the time I just play catch up with the two of them. But they’re ok. Exhausted, but otherwise ok.”

     “I… are you sure that I did not hurt Sideswipe?” Prowl inquired, hunching in close to Jazz. “He seemed afraid of me.”

     Ratchet pursed his lips and tried to choose his words carefully. “Most heats are gradual, both in the beginning and the end. Theirs seemed to be like someone had flipped a switch. I can imagine it would be… _disorientating_ … to have that drive to interface suddenly turned off.”

     “Yes. Yes, I suppose,” Prowl mused. “Nevertheless, I will apologize to Sideswipe. I did not stop when he asked me to; I am able to recognize now that that was very upsetting. Their pheromones were quite strong, were they not?”

     Ratchet thought back to his own lapse in judgement and nodded rapidly. “And in large quantities as well,” he admitted.

     He distracted himself from his own lingering guilt by giving Prowl and then Jazz a scan. Both seemed to be in good health, although Jazz was running a little hotter than normal. Actually quite a bit hotter than normal. Ratchet discreetly rolled his optics; he wouldn’t put it past Jazz to have found another illegal mod somewhere to force him out of stasis.

     “Anyway, you ready for your mate to wake up?” Ratchet questioned, stepping forward and reaching for the port in Jazz’s nearest wrist. Best to get him back online before the fool burned out any systems.

     Prowl abruptly sat up, his doorwings arching forward aggressively. His engine revved with a warning growl, and Ratchet came to a standstill, staring at the tactician in astonishment.

     “Prowl?” Ratchet ventured, keeping his arms held out to the side in clear sight.

     “I… I am sorry,” Prowl said after a moment. He shook his head, looking away in embarrassment. “I don’t know what came over me just then.”

     Getting a sinking feeling, Ratchet looked Jazz over again, noting that his frame temperature had risen another degree since the last check barely a minute earlier. A deeper scan showed the majority of the warmth emanated from his pelvis. Ratchet looked up at the ceiling, shaking one fist at it. “Really? _Really_?”

     “What? What is it?” Prowl asked in alarm, hand coming to rest protectively on Jazz’s chest.

     “Jazz’s heat has been triggered,” Ratchet explained with a sigh. “It’s subtle, but starting to pick up speed. It’s why you instinctively tried to warn me off just now. I still have my suppression codes in place so I’m not detecting the pheromones, but they definitely seem to be affecting you.”

     “Oh,” Prowl said, looking down at Jazz’s prone frame. “Jazz’s last heat went on for nearly a week,” the tactician informed Ratchet. Prowl sounded a little disheartened, and Ratchet snorted in amusement.

     “I doubt it will last for that long this time around. Not after all the two of you just went through with the twins,” Ratchet explained, backing up slowly. He moved to the nearby counter and reached for the cubes of energon and coolant he had placed there. They were untouched, Prowl likely too focused on getting clean and assessing Jazz.

     “Nevertheless, best get fueled up,” Ratchet remarked, grabbing a container of fuel and carefully walking forward again to hand it over to Prowl.

     “Thank you,” Prowl said demurely, although his sensory panels were still positioned high and threatening. He gestured towards his bonded. “I promise I will not attack you as you wake him up.”

     “You best not,” Ratchet muttered, glacially reaching out to take hold of Jazz’s hand and insert a medical probe into his wrist port. Mates were notoriously protective of each other during heat cycles. Prowl was fortunately still aware enough to recognize Ratchet. Nevertheless, Ratchet pinged his medic ident code to Prowl every few seconds, just in case.   

     It took only a second to flip Jazz’s systems out of stasis. The saboteur’s body minutely tensed and Ratchet hurriedly disengaged his cord, stepping back. It was always a gamble bringing both Spec Ops and frontliners out of a medically induced stasis. They often woke up swinging, and Jazz had definitely struggled against Ratchet earlier. It was entirely possible that he would wake still caught up in that urge to fight.  

     Thankfully that urge had either faded while in stasis or Jazz was able to recognize the lack of threats. Waking up next to his bonded probably had a lot to do with that.

     Jazz in-vented deeply and then stretched, arching his back in a sinuous wave. “Mmm… that was kinda fun,” he murmured, visor still dark. “You ok, Prowler?”

     “I am fine,” Prowl replied, stroking Jazz’s chestplate. The third in command onlined his optics, visor brightening to a sleepy blue glow. “How do you feel?”

     “Good. Real good… huh… that didn’t last long,” Jazz said, with a faint frown as he likely accessed his chronometer. He turned his head and sought out Ratchet.

     “Kids ok?”

     “They’re fine. But you’re not gonna be unless you get refueled yourself. That one cube you had isn’t going to be enough,” Ratchet said, placing more unopened containers of fuel and coolant on a mobile cart and gently propelling it to the berth on Prowl’s side.

     “Enough for what?” Jazz asked, his pede sliding up Prowl’s leg with a soft chime.

     “You are entering your own heat cycle,” Prowl replied, nodding gratefully at Ratchet.

     “Really? Hah! Thought I was feeling a mite tingly. Well, doesn’t that beat all,” Jazz commented, accepting the cubes Prowl passed over to him. “Domino effect, I guess. Sorry all your isolation rooms are being used up, Ratch. How’s Prime doing?”

     “He’s next on my list to visit,” Ratchet admitted. “I’ll leave you two to it then. You’ve got plenty of rations for at least two more days. The door will be locked with medic codes. Of course I’m sure you could break them, Jazz, but I’m counting on the fact that you won’t want to go anywhere.”

     “Hmm? Oh, yeah, probably not,” Jazz replied, words a little slurred already. He was staring at Prowl, licking energon from his lower lip. Prowl seemed just as entranced with his mate, but he did manage to wave distractedly at Ratchet as he walked towards the exit.

     “Thank you, Ratchet. You will relay this information on to our seconds, I trust?”

     “Sure thing, Prowl. Have fun,” Ratchet said and left before they could pounce on one another. It didn’t matter that he was a medic; he had seen entirely too many interface arrays in the last day and a half.

     Ratchet continued on down the hallway to the room where Optimus was hopefully still ensconced. There hadn’t been any more panicky cries for rescue from First Aid, so Ratchet assumed that Optimus hadn’t escaped.

     Ratchet keyed in his code and quietly entered the room. He first looked warily behind the door for Optimus. Ratchet had no idea how long the Matrix was going to be encouraging Optimus to reproduce. Normally Ratchet would never worry about Optimus forcing anyone, but if the Matrix became insistent enough…

     Apparently, he needn’t have worried.

     “You have _got_ to be kidding me!” Ratchet exclaimed, loudly enough that Wheeljack jerked awake. He looked around blearily before finally finding Ratchet standing in the doorway.

     “Heya, Ratch,” Wheeljack greeted him softly. “Don’t wake up Prime.”

     Ratchet bit his glossa and counted to twenty before replying. “Would he even wake up? Looks like you wore him out.”

     He had to admit it was kind of a cute sight. Wheeljack was flat on his back, Optimus’ head pillowed on the engineer’s chest. The rest of him was curled around and sprawled out over Wheeljack, effectively trapping him in place.

     “I spark merged with a Prime,” Wheeljack replied dreamily. “Ratchet, I can’t even… it was so amazing.”

     Ratchet raised an orbital ridge. Romantic that Wheeljack was, this was probably a dream come true. “Uh huh. Did he spark you up? Did _you_ spark _him_ up?”

     Wheeljack gently patted the top of Prime’s helm. “Dunno. I’m fine either way; you know I like kids.”

     “’Jack…”

     “Hmm?” Wheeljack looked up, now stroking Optimus’ forehelm, and Ratchet was really too old and too bitter for all of this.

     “Just… keep him occupied. I don’t want him wandering off, spreading the love around,” Ratchet finally said with a sigh. He wearily rubbed a hand over his forehelm and pinched his nasal ridge as he imagined sparklings running all over the Ark.

     “Maybe we could lead him over to the Decepticons. Make love, not war!” Wheeljack exclaimed. Optimus snuffled quietly and squirmed closer to Wheeljack, holding him close like a human child with a teddy bear. “Awwwww…. Isn’t he just the cutest? Never mind, I’ll keep him.”

     Ratchet rolled his optics. Definitely too old. “Right. You do that. I’m locking the door behind me.”

     “K!” Wheeljack chirped and Ratchet fled.

     He marched out of the isolation halls and back out into the main treatment bay where Hoist was looking at a patient file, probably for one of his upcoming maintenance appointments.

     “Oh, hello, Ratchet. First Aid was telling me the twins went into heat?” Hoist said, perking up as Ratchet drew closer.

     “The twins did, yes. Then the Matrix went haywire and produced something similar in Optimus, although he at least isn’t throwing out pheromones. Jazz and Prowl helped out with the twins and after they were done, Jazz went into heat as well.

     “My idiots are in 4, sleeping things off, Optimus and Wheeljack are in 7, and the black and white lovebirds are in 6. They’re bonded by the way, so be careful if you have to actually go in there to check on them. Prowl nearly took my head off earlier,” Ratchet explained balefully, Hoist’s optics getting wider and wider with every new bit of news.

     “Prowl and Jazz have a supply of fuel for about two days, as do the twins. I didn’t leave anything with Jack and Prime though, so you might want to toss something their way in a few more hours. And… yes, that’s about everything. I’m heading to the washracks and then to bed,” Ratchet announced, shutting down all his remove monitors, even to the twins. Hoist was more than competent enough to keep an optic on them now that their cycles had completed. “It’s your turn now.”

     Hoist stared at Ratchet, reaching out to him as he was about to turn away. “Wait… Wheeljack?”

     Ratchet threw up his hands in aggravation. “Pit if I know. Comm me if the world’s ending, otherwise leave me alone. And if anyone else goes into heat, I don’t want to know about it until I’m actually back on shift. So you better have your suppression codes in place!”

     “O-ok,” Hoist stuttered, backing up a step as Ratchet stomped on by.

     Done. Definitely done with all of this.

 

~ End chapter


	7. Traveling

     Sunstreaker onlined to the feeling of being overly warm. He automatically cringed… until he realized that he had absolutely no desire to interface. None. His valve was sore but uninterested in doing anything but existing.

     And judging by the sound of another’s slow and steady ventilations, he was warm because his brother was still sprawled out on top of him.

     He warily opened his optics, gaze sweeping across the room to see it empty other than the two of them. Relaxing, Sunstreaker stared at the point of Sideswipe’s shoulder, his twin’s face buried in the crook of Sunstreaker’s neck. He raised a hand to touch Sideswipe and then winced as his entire body protested the movement.

     “Damnit,” Sunstreaker cursed, wiggling his fingers around and trying to stretch out too tight cables. He’d sustained a lot of injuries over the span of his existence; but he couldn’t ever remember a time when the wires in his forearm had cramped. It wasn’t the worst pain of his life, but it was definitely a new experience.

     “Mmphf,” Sideswipe muttered, nuzzling his face against the side of Sunstreaker’s neck. Then… “Ow. Owowow…”

     “Yeah,” Sunstreaker said in fervent agreement as every micrometer of his body made itself known. “This thing kicked our afts.”

     Sideswipe squirmed a little before wearily raising his head. His optics looked pinched, his entire face tight with discomfort. “I don’t wanna do that again,” Sideswipe complained.

     “Not sure if we get the choice or not,” Sunstreaker replied, finally able to reach out and place a hand on Sideswipe’s nape. His brother subtly arched into the touch.

     “Yeah, well I don’t care about what Ratchet said or even taking turns. Next time, we’re snatching him and we’ll figure it out as we go,” Sideswipe said firmly. “Where is he anyway?”

     Sunstreaker pinged Teletraan and then frowned at the result. “His quarters.”

     “Oh. Well, I guess he was due to be off shift ages ago, though I thought he’d have stuck around,” Sideswipe commented, looking disappointed. Sunstreaker gently squeezed Sideswipe’s neck in sympathy. It was always good when the medic performed self-care, but Sunstreaker couldn’t help but also feel a little let down that Ratchet had left.

     “Did you see him carry me in here?” Sideswipe asked, changing the subject. “Wasn’t that just so…?”

     “Embarrassing?” Sunstreaker supplied, having felt the emotion second hand at seeing Ratchet lug Sideswipe into the room. They were frontliners. Mechs didn’t carry them; it was more like the other way around.

     Sideswipe made a face, his nasal ridge crinkling in protest. “No! Sweet. And impressive. I didn’t realize how strong he was. It’s kinda hot. In an abstract way,” he rushed to add at Sunstreaker’s incredulous look.

     “Hn. To be honest, I hope everything stays abstract for a long time,” Sunstreaker grumbled. Just the thought of interfacing right now made him cringe.

     “I hear that. So we’re just supposed to rest and recover, right? Are we supposed to stay here?” Sideswipe started squirming again, his knee digging into Sunstreaker’s thigh.

     Sunstreaker shrugged, the motion sending waves of pain down his back. “I don’t see why. We could rest better in our own berth.”

     Sideswipe nodded, moving with more purpose. He leveraged himself up and then slid off Sunstreaker’s frame. He landed on his hip with a hissed curse. “Fuck. Ow. Our bed would be great right about now,” he said, referring to their double wide, nicely padded berth. Which was far, far away in their quarters.  About a half dozen hallways away from here.

     “You need to wash up first,” Sunstreaker said, pointing with his chin at the washracks. “You probably still smell of the pheromones.”

     Ratchet was likely conked out on his own bed. He wouldn’t be around to sav… intervene if someone decided to start pawing at Sideswipe when neither of them could really do anything about it.

     Sideswipe looked over at the small stall, nasal ridge wrinkling up in irritation “Yeah, I guess,” he said, sighing. “You’re gonna have to help me, though.”

     “Fine. Ratchet only wiped me down; it won’t hurt for me to get a better rinse.” It would be heavenly actually, now that he thought about it.

     “Ratchet wiped you down?” Sideswipe exclaimed and then whistled appreciatively. “Lucky.”

     He wiggled around until his legs hung over the side of the berth and then pushed himself off. He no doubt meant to land on his pedes but his legs crumpled beneath him and he ended up on his knees instead. Sunstreaker rolled over to peer down at his twin.

     “Right. Lucky. We are so very lucky right now,” Sunstreaker commented, gazing at Sideswipe’s wide-opticked expression. His brother looked to be on the verge of a full blown pout, judging by the tiny tremble to his lower lip.

     “I hate this,” Sideswipe commented matter of factly. He threw himself sideways, letting his legs slide out from under him. Once he was propped up on one hip and a palm, he gave a great heave and pushed himself up on his hands and knees. Entire frame shaking, Sideswipe started crawling his way over to the washrack. Typical shameless Sideswipe; by any means necessary, no matter how ridiculous it looked.

     Of course, in any other instance, Sideswipe would look a little less ridiculous and a little more arousing, his interfacing fluid-streaked aft swaying as it was, but all Sunstreaker could do was wearily watch Sideswipe’s progress. And go join him. But Sunstreaker would not demean himself by crawling. He would make it across the room on his own two pedes, thank you.

     It took some time and a lot of creative cursing, but eventually they both ended up standing in the washracks. As small as the stall was, there was barely even a foot of space between them. Which suited Sunstreaker just fine. He couldn’t bear the thought of his brother more than an arm’s width away right now.

     After washing the copious amounts of transfluid from their valves, they fell into a familiar routine of checking each other over, much like they did after battles. Sunstreaker used the opportunity to catalogue every scrape and dent on his brother and commit it to memory.

     Sideswipe had come out of heat with just as much revulsion as Sunstreaker had; he had helplessly experienced Sideswipe’s disgust and growing panic as if it had been his own. Sunstreaker thankfully hadn’t experienced the influence of heat pheromones, but if _Ratchet_ had succumbed to them, Prowl probably hadn’t had a chance in resisting. Still. It was hard to forgive Prowl for not backing off when Sideswipe had told him to.

     “I know black is black, but this is not _my_ black,” Sideswipe commented, scraping at a paint transfer on Sunstreaker’s side. “Once we’re actually really able to stand, can we do a full repaint?”

     Scrubbing at several streaks of white on Sideswipe’s chest, Sunstreaker gave a sharp nod. “I can’t stand these marks on you,” he spat, noting that many of them would take a more in depth cleaning than what Sunstreaker was capable of at the moment.

     Sideswipe stroked a hand down Sunstreaker’s hood, leaning in and pressing a light kiss against his cheek. “We can fix it,” he said reassuringly.

     “Are we going to be able to fix the way we look at Jazz and Prowl now?” Sunstreaker muttered, remembering Jazz’s words about how he had always wanted to ‘try Sideswipe’. “Or them, us?”

     Sighing, Sideswipe shrugged and leaned his chest against Sunstreaker’s. In response, Sunstreaker widened his stance and leaned back. Propped up against one another, they let the overhead waterspout beat down on them, washing away the bubbles of cleanser and hopefully any remaining pheromones.

     “Maybe Prowl’ll never be able to look me in the optic again, and I can get away with anything?” Sideswipe offered, nuzzling the side of Sunstreaker’s neck.

     “I’d rather have his respect,” Sunstreaker muttered.

     Prowl had always been one of the few officers who had never looked down on them. They had their differences, but when it came to the heat of battle, he trusted their skills. It would hurt if he ended up treating them differently after all this.

     “Do you think we still have Ratchet’s respect?” Sideswipe asked, voice hesitant and small.

     Sunstreaker wound his arms around his brother’s waist, spark shrinking down tight at the thought of that potential loss. Apparently all mechs went through heat, but theirs had made them seem so wanton and desperate. Would Ratchet think less of them now after seeing how they had panted after the nearest available spike?

     He had to know. And he had to know now.

     “Want to go find out?”

\--

     Traveling through the halls was an exercise in frustration. Sunstreaker was only slightly better off than Sideswipe who couldn’t take more than a few steps before his legs started to buckle. They tried walking with one of Sideswipe’s arms slung over Sunstreaker’s shoulder, but Sunstreaker flagged quickly under the extra weight. They finally ended up with Sunstreaker leaning on Sideswipe who propped himself up against the side of the hallway. Sunstreaker was pretty sure they were leaving crimson paint streaks on the wall behind them but it was the best they could do.

     Thankfully it was mid-shift so no one was around to witness their graceless stumbling. Although Sunstreaker was starting to move from merely overwhelmed to completely numb from the entire experience so laughter from their comrades probably wouldn’t even register at this point.

     “This is it,” Sideswipe panted, sliding to a halt in front of Ratchet’s door. “So how are we gonna do this? I’m not even sure he’ll answer the door; he’s probably recharging.”

     “Can’t you hack it?” Sunstreaker asked, gesturing at the door lock.

     Sideswipe turned to look at him with surprise. “ _Nice_ , bro. I’m usually the one suggesting the sneak attack.”

     Sideswipe plastered himself against the door jam nearest the lock. His hands shook as he fiddled with the electronic plate and popped it loose.

     “Maybe I fried my processor in all of that,” Sunstreaker replied, pointing a thumb back in the direction of the Medical Bay. He shuffled over to the opposite door jam, using it as support while watching Sideswipe work.

     “We’ll lead with that when Ratchet is screaming at us for breaking into his room,” Sideswipe said with a firm nod, head bent as he concentrated.

     “He did say that we could talk together,” Sunstreaker mused. After a minute of watching Sideswipe sag more and more every few seconds, Sunstreaker pushed off from the door and shambled over behind his brother. He leaned against the wall there and snuck an arm around Sideswipe’s waist to anchor him.

     “We might end up in the brig for this,” Sideswipe cautioned several moments later as the lock finally beeped green and the door cracked open.

     Sunstreaker remembered Ratchet’s careful hands while wiping him clean and letting him ‘walk’ towards the recovery room. “Worth it.”

     Nodding, Sideswipe pushed the door wider and slipped inside. Sunstreaker followed, the door sliding shut after him. They paused, letting their optics adjust to the dim interior.

     Ratchet’s quarters were a little bit bigger than theirs, a perk of being an officer. His berth was at the far end of the room, the medic sprawled out upon it. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker moved closer, their gazes fixed on the mech they had been mooning over for years. He was still except for his slow and measured ventilations. Even in the midst of recharge, he looked tired and Sunstreaker started to doubt their presence here. All of them needed rest, Ratchet included. Maybe this had been a bad idea.

     “Sides…” he whispered, reaching out a hand for his brother’s elbow. “I think…”

     At the sound of Sunstreaker’s voice, Ratchet onlined with a snort, lurching upright with his hands clenched into fists. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe froze, staring at Ratchet as he stared back at them. It took a few seconds for the recharge-adled medic to recognize them, but as soon as he did, he relaxed out of his defensive posture.

     “What... Sunstreaker? Sideswipe? What are you two _doing_ here?” Ratchet asked, more confused than angry. “… and how did you get in?!”

     Next to Sunstreaker, Sideswipe hung his head and sheepishly scuffed the floor with one pede. “You said we would talk afterwards. And I might’ve hacked the lock.”

     “ _Afterwards_ … when everyone was _recovered_!” Ratchet said, voice picking up volume. “Look at you two – how did you even manage to walk from the MedBay to here?”

     “It’s not that far,” Sunstreaker protested as Ratchet pushed himself to the edge of the berth and stood.

     “Says you,” Sideswipe muttered petulantly.

     And swayed in place. Sunstreaker was even pretty confident it wasn’t an attempt to make a point.

     “Sit. Sit down,” Ratchet commanded, reaching out and gently tugging them in the direction of the berth.  

 _Ratchet’s_ berth. A place Sunstreaker had dreamed of time and time again. And here he was, although it wasn’t in quite the circumstances he’d fantasized about.

     “You’re about to fall over. Sideswipe, did you even think to drink the energon I left you?” Ratchet asked, increasing the brightness of the overhead lights. He bustled over to his desk where a portable energon dispenser sat and started fiddling with it.

     “You left us energon?” Sideswipe asked. He turned to Sunstreaker. “Did you see energon in there?”

     Sunstreaker shook his head, deliriously happy that he was sitting again. All right, so maybe it _had_ been a pretty far walk from Medical. Which seemed dumb; why weren’t the CMO’s quarters closer to the Bay?

     “All I saw was you falling on your face about ten times and then you crawling into the washrack.”

     “Thank Primus you at least cleaned up,” Ratchet muttered, carefully walking back to them with two full cubes of fuel. The liquid nearly overflowed the containers and Sunstreaker didn’t want to chance causing a spill. Once Ratchet let go, Sunstreaker leaned forward and started sipping directly from the edge, tank cramping in eagerness to absorb the fuel.

     Ratchet growled in frustration, and Sunstreaker slanted his optics to the side to see what had set him off. “How in the Pit did you manage to hack my lock?” Ratchet demanded, glaring down at Sideswipe as his shaking hands reached up for the container.

     Ratchet slid three fingers up under Sideswipe’s jaw and chin, gently tilting his head back so Ratchet could trickle the energon directly into Sideswipe’s mouth. Sunstreaker watched Sideswipe tense at the touch and then relax as the fuel crossed his glossa. His optics dimmed as he swallowed repeatedly, shutters lidding as his gaze fixed adoringly on Ratchet’s face. Sunstreaker felt a sudden surge of jealousy, but he quickly shoved it back down. Sideswipe _was_ worse off and unless Sunstreaker had had complete loss of the use of his arms, he would never have allowed Ratchet to feed him like that.

     “Sheer persistence,” Sunstreaker murmured. He was honestly a little surprised that no one had caught them on camera standing outside Ratchet’s door for nearly ten minutes.

     “You could have called for me,” Ratchet grumbled. “…instead of standing out there.”

     “Would you have let us in?” Sideswipe asked, grasping Ratchet’s wrist to halt the energon flow. Sunstreaker watched Ratchet’s face twist through a variety of expressions before settling on resignation.

     “Yes. But only because the two of you are about to drop, and I can’t carry both of you back to MedBay at the same time. And I doubt you’d want to be separated for even that long.”

     Sunstreaker’s spark pulsed a happy throb. No one else knew them as well as Ratchet did.

     “Can we stay?” Sunstreaker blurted out.

     He tried to remember how Sideswipe did the ‘turbopuppy optics’. Sideswipe had attempted to teach him when they were younglings, but at the time Sunstreaker had scoffed at the idea. Now he regretted that as he stared intently up at Ratchet, willing him to say yes. From across their bond, Sideswipe poked at him in surprise. Sunstreaker never asked things of others, and rarely of even Sideswipe. Sunstreaker was starting to believe the heat really _had_ fried something in his processor.

     After a moment, Ratchet nodded, taking a step back. “I don’t want you moving anywhere. You need to rest. I have a cot back in Medical…”

     “No!” Sideswipe exclaimed, Sunstreaker echoing him a split second later. Sideswipe pawed at Ratchet’s wrist again, jostling the cube of energon. A few droplets splattered up and out onto Ratchet’s hand. He switched the container to his other hand and absently licked the drops off his plating.

     Sunstreaker mourned their recent heat. Normally something like that would shoot a bolt of lust straight through him. Now, he could only absently admire the flick of Ratchet’s glossa.  

     “No?” Ratchet questioned, raising an orbital ridge at Sideswipe.

     “No,” Sideswipe said firmly. “We want you to stay here with us.”

     Ratchet sighed. “Sides, I’m far past the age where I can comfortably recharge on the floor…”

     “ _With us_ ,” Sunstreaker emphasized, taking over for Sideswipe. “Together. On the berth.”

     “Please?” Sideswipe begged, optics innocently wide and shining in that way only Sideswipe and Bluestreak could manage. How in the Pits did Sideswipe do that? Sunstreaker was trying but he suspected that he just looked homicidal, judging by the wary glances Ratchet kept giving him. “No funny business. Trust me, we want none of that for a long time.”

     “You’ll be able to keep an optic on us,” Sunstreaker helpfully pointed out. “We won’t be able to leave without waking you up.”

     Ratchet shook his head. “I can’t see how either of you would be ok with this. I was there, remember? I saw how you came back to yourselves when you were still with Jazz and Prowl. It wasn’t pretty.”

     “That was them. This is you,” Sideswipe argued, Sunstreaker nodding along. “I came out of it after _you_ fragged me and I was fine!”

     “I let you wipe me down,” Sunstreaker added quietly. “It was embarrassing as the the Pit that I couldn't do it myself, but you cleaned off my panel and I didn’t even flinch.”

     Ratchet was silent for a long moment, his face guarded. Both Sunstreaker and Sideswipe leaned forward, watching the medic intently. Even though recharging together would be platonic Sunstreaker suspected Ratchet would still resi…

     “Ok.”

 

~ End Chapter 


	8. Arranging

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a bit like Tetris.

                 Sideswipe looked up at Ratchet, mouth agape. Then he glanced over at Sunstreaker to see him staring at Ratchet too, equally as surprised.

                 “Ok? Just like that?” Sideswipe asked, feeling a light slap along the bond. And Sideswipe got it – don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, as the humans said. But he didn’t want Ratchet to recharge with them out of some sense of duty. Or be guilted into it. Ratchet already experienced enough guilt for twenty mechs.

                 “Just like that,” Ratchet said with a decisive nod. “I want you to rest, not follow me around the Ark like stray turbopups, and unless I sedate you, I have a feeling that’s what you’ll do. So Sideswipe, finish your cube, and one more. Then we’ll lay down.”

                 Well, at least Ratchet now realized how serious they were about him. Or at least about wanting to talk things through.

                 Sideswipe wasn’t going to question it any further. He reached out and yanked the container of energon out of Ratchet’s hands, throwing back the remaining few swallows of fuel. He wordlessly held out the cube to Ratchet, noting that his hands seemed a little less shaky now that he wasn’t on the verge of shut down. He probably should have mentioned that to Sunstreaker before going on their little adventure.

                 Ah well. Ratchet was taking care of them.

                 The medic refilled the cube of energon and handed it to Sideswipe, taking the empty from Sunstreaker and placing it next to the dispenser. When he turned back around, he faced the two of them with hands on his hips.

                 “I don’t have the largest berth. How are we all going to fit?”

                 “You in the middle. Sides against the wall,” Sunstreaker replied immediately.

                 “Why do I have to be the one against the wall?” Sideswipe exclaimed, otherwise totally in agreement with sandwiching Ratchet between them.

                 Sunstreaker merely looked at Sideswipe’s trembling frame with a raised orbital ridge. Which, ok, point. But it wasn’t like Sunstreaker was up to kicking more than glitchmouse’s aft right now himself.

                 By unspoken agreement, the twins had always switched up who lay on the open side of their berth; the more able bodied twin would recharge on the outside in order to protect the one more seriously injured. Out of the three of them, Ratchet was probably the only one fit enough to defend anyone. It still didn’t feel right to put him on the outside though. Even barely able to stand, they both felt the need to put Ratchet squarely between them.

                 “Fine,” Sideswipe said and quickly gulped down the rest of the energon. He speculatively considered the distance between the berth and table and raised his arm. Before he could even think about letting the cube fly, Ratchet grabbed it from him.  

                 “Really?” Ratchet demanded, placing it on the table instead.

                 “s’not like I was gonna be able to walk it over there,” Sideswipe said reasonably, gesturing for Sunstreaker to scoot further down the berth. Once he had more room, Sideswipe laboriously picked up a leg, trying to pull it high enough to put on the bed. Sunstreaker squinted his optics at him and just watched. He was putting on a façade for Ratchet, but Sideswipe could tell his brother was exhausted. It was the only reason he wasn’t already helping Sideswipe.

                 “Could have just given it to me. All right, stop, stop. This will take forever if we let you do this,” Ratchet grumbled, watching Sideswipe struggle a moment before stepping forward. One of Ratchet’s arms slid under Sideswipe’s knees and the other went around his lower back. Before he could blink, Ratchet had lifted him and deposited him lengthwise on the bed, against the wall.

                 Sideswipe wasn’t absolutely positive, but he could have sworn that Ratchet’s hands lingered as he withdrew them from under Sideswipe’s body.

                 “That is like, the hottest thing,” Sideswipe commented dreamily. Sunstreaker snorted in tired amusement and Sideswipe managed a glare. So Sideswipe had kinks. So what?

                 Ratchet reared back and gave Sideswipe the side optic. “Me putting you in my berth?”

                 “Well… _yeah_. But also just being able to lift and carry one of us. We’re not lightweights; you’re freakishly strong for being so short.”

                 “Medics have to be able to lug reckless frontliners from the field of battle,” Ratchet explained, stepping back and letting Sunstreaker work his way onto the bed on his own. Ratchet didn’t even attempt to help, probably knowing Sunstreaker would never accept assistance.  

                 Sideswipe sighed internally. Sunstreaker and his ridiculous pride.

                “And I’m of average height. I’m just shorter than you,” Ratchet continued, considering the berth once Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had settled. There wasn’t exactly a great deal of space between the two of them now that Sideswipe thought about it. He met Sunstreaker’s glance and without even discussing it, they began to shift. Sunstreaker slid closer to the edge of the bed and Sideswipe squirmed and pushed himself up onto his side, back propped against the wall. This moved them off the wide pillow Ratchet had been using, but neither of them really cared all that much.

                That freed up several more feet of space between them. Sideswipe patted the open area and looked up at Ratchet. “All yours.”

                Ratchet surveyed the bed for another moment with an unreadable expression on his face. Then he gave a short little shake of his head and moved to the foot of the berth. He climbed on to the bed between their pedes and crawled up until he could flop over onto his back. Close quarters meant their shoulders scraped as he settled, but it wasn’t like they weren’t already scuffed up. And while the paint transfers from Jazz and Prowl had unsettled them both, Sideswipe rather liked the thought of some of Ratchet’s colors rubbing off on them.  

                For several minutes after Ratchet had settled, Sideswipe ventilated shallowly, hardly daring to believe that they were here and Ratchet was lying right next to him. Across their bond, Sunstreaker was echoing Sideswipe’s amazement with the addition of a painful sort of longing. He wanted to be even closer. They both did.

                _Do you think…?_ Sunstreaker asked hesitantly.

                _Doubt he’ll kick us out now_ , Sideswipe reasoned. _I’ll start. I’m halfway there already_.

                Moving glacially slow, Sideswipe rolled fully onto his hip. He teetered in place for several seconds and his plan for a gradual approach fell apart as he overbalanced. He landed against Ratchet’s side with a muffled clash of metal and a pained grunt. Sunstreaker sent him a wave of exasperation but otherwise stayed silent, watching to see what Ratchet would do.

                Sideswipe remained frozen in place for several moments until he dared looked up. Ratchet was staring down at him with a raised orbital ridge and an amused quirk to his lips. Emboldened by the sort of smile, Sideswipe grinned back.

                “Uhh… hi?” he offered.

                “Comfortable?” Ratchet asked, optics glinting with that mischievous shimmer that meant Ratchet was reluctantly charmed. It was the expression Sideswipe strove for in all of their interactions.

                Sideswipe took stock. His left arm was tucked up under him at an uncomfortable angle and his hip would probably ache less if his leg was raised, but he wasn’t going to say any of that and risk being pushed away.

                “I’m fine.”

                Ratchet rolled his optics. “Sure you are. Come on; get over here,” he instructed.

                He shifted, lifting his arm out from under Sideswipe’s back, and then Sideswipe was suddenly moving across the bed. Somehow he ended up tucked against Ratchet’s side, head pillowed on the medic’s windshield and Ratchet’s arm cupping Sideswipe’s shoulder from behind.

                And wow, that was nice. Ratchet was solid and warm, and Sideswipe fit perfectly up against the other mech.   

                “Better?” Ratchet asked.

                Sideswipe dared to raise his upper leg, propping his knee against Ratchet’s thigh. Ahh… much better.

                “’s’good,” Sideswipe mumbled, luxuriating in the feel of the medic’s plating against his. Almost absently, Sideswipe’s fingers rubbed across Ratchet’s windshield. The slick feeling nearly made him miss the quiet envy Sunstreaker was projecting. “Can Sunny come too?”

                “Of course. Sunstreaker?” Ratchet asked, lifting his other arm in invitation. There was no movement from his brother for several seconds and then Sideswipe heard a soft churr of metal sliding against metal. Sunstreaker’s face came into view, optics a little wild as he laid his helm down across from Sideswipe. Sunstreaker’s helm fins made it a little difficult; he ended up with his face practically smashed into Ratchet’s chest.

                _You ok?_ Sideswipe asked, seeing the tense set to his twin’s shoulders. _He won’t hurt us, Sunny, just relax._

                _I know!_ Sunstreaker snapped, his hand hesitantly coming to rest a few inches from Sideswipe’s. Sideswipe stretched his arm out and curled his fingers over his brother’s. With the reassurance of Sideswipe’s touch, Sunstreaker relaxed a fraction _. I just… is this real?_

                Sideswipe tightened his grip on his Sunstreaker’s hand. _Gotta be. Never ever imagined Ratchet smelling this good._

                Sunstreaker furtively took a sniff. _You’re right_ , Sunstreaker said with a hint of surprise. _I always thought he’d smell like the MedBay._

                “Are you sniffing me?” Ratchet suddenly asked. Sideswipe’s gaze darted upwards, his nasal ridge mashed against the medic’s frame as he tried to get more of that tantalizing scent.

                “…maybe?” Sideswipe returned in answer to Ratchet’s bemused expression.

                Ratchet’s mouth worked for a moment before he lightly shook his head. “I’m not even going to ask.”

                “Probably for the best,” Sideswipe replied, easing back slightly. He was still a little wary that Ratchet would suddenly order them out of his room. “Sorry.”

                The arm around Sideswipe’s shoulders tightened in something akin to a hug. Based on the tingly thrill emanating from Sunstreaker’s side of their bond, he had just gotten one too.

                “It’s fine. By now I shouldn’t be surprised by anything the two of you do.”

                “So are we gonna talk now?” Sideswipe asked, sleepily rubbing his face against Ratchet’s chest. Now that he was safe and warm with Sunstreaker nearby, the need to recharge was pressing. But he fought it off. Talking was important. Living with a largely uncommunicative twin had taught him that.

                “Not right now. You both need to recharge,” Ratchet replied. “When you’re back to normal, well… as normal as the two of you get… we’ll sit down and discuss things.”

                “Hardy har har,” Sideswipe mumbled, his vision already starting to narrow as his optics initialized shut down.

                “But you _will_ talk with us?” Sunstreaker asked. His tone was even, but Sideswipe caught the desperate need for reassurance anyway. It was definitely shared. Sideswipe didn’t want to have to go chasing Ratchet down again. This wasn’t anything but a little bit of cuddling and Sideswipe was already hooked. He didn’t want it to be a one-time thing.

                Ratchet sighed, but he gave them both another one of those squeeze-hugs. “I will. Now shut up and recharge.”

                “Yes, Boss,” Sideswipe murmured. He absent-mindedly pressed a small kiss to Ratchet’s windshield while squeezing Sunstreaker’s fingers once more.

                As recharge dragged him down, his last thought was that he could definitely get used to this.

 

~ End Chapter 


End file.
